


To Feel To Fall

by ReineP



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ancient Magical Affliction, Durmstrang, F/M, Family Dynamics, Friendship, Hogwarts, Nerding over Languages, Nerding over Learning, OC, Other International Schools, Personal Growth, Romance, Trio of Friends, Use of language appropriate names, Viktor Krumov, international friendships, knowing others through language or food, research is fun, supportive friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 79,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24452869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReineP/pseuds/ReineP
Summary: No man is an island. We all need a little helping hand to get through life.An exploration of Hermione's journey into the magical world.For Viktor, an exploration of the pitfalls of living with an 'affliction' and how it might affect his life choices and career.Plays around Canon. World building and dipping into the international magical schools. WIP. (Krumione / Vikmione)
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Viktor Krum
Comments: 50
Kudos: 102





	1. Granger Summer 1992: The Intervention

_Hogsmeade Station, Hogsmeade, Scotland_

"You alright, 'Mione?"

"Yes, Ronald. Just wondering who's going to be our Defense against the Dark Arts professor next year," answered Hermione while looking out of their train cabin towards the bustling platform. And also thinking how to 'decompress', as her parents would put it, during the summer. She still needs some time to process everything they've experienced. And in just their first year! What more in the years to come?

"Guess we need to wait and see. Just not excited for the summer honestly," intoned Harry, which brought sympathetic smiles from the other two while he petted Hedwig.

"I'd say we'll owl you every week but I think Ron needs to do that on my behalf. I still haven't decided yet if I should get my own." She's thinking more along the lines of getting the feline variety of familiars.

Harry contemplated for a few moments, still brushing the feathers in his hand before his expression brightened.

"I'll let you borrow Hedwig! So you absolutely have to send me letters. You can write as many or as long as you like. What do you think?" Harry asked, turning to the snowy owl. She blinked slowly while hooting as if to say 'are you sure?'

"Oh but Harry. I can't do that! You need her while dealing with your, er, relations." Hermione absolutely refuses to call them his family after learning how horribly they treated him.

"But, Mione, you know I'm not much of a letter writer. And you're closer to Harry so it won't take long for Hedwig to get to him."

"Ron, you're still going to write to him. Don't be so lazy! But Ron's right, Harry. You're in Surrey, right? I can mail you. The muggle way."

"But the Dursleys will intercept them. Burn them in the fire place. And even if I get them, they won't help me pay to reply." Harry said matter-of-factly. "And I can't go out to get mail from a PO Box because one, we don't rent one. Two, they don't let me out of the house unless absolutely necessary."

"That won't be a problem. We'll use 'Prepaid Envelopes'. I'll send those along with my letters so you can use them to reply back and they're already paid for," explained Hermione, more for Ron's sake than Harry's. "If you're worried about the cost, don't. You can pay me back in those Sugar Quills that Fred and George gave last Christmas and dedicating at least four hours of your day in school every day studying."

"Since when have you been chummy with my brothers?" Ron puzzled. He remembered Hermione was one of their favorite targets for their pranks last year.

"Since I helped them figure out a problem in their school work and had a funny discussion about one of their pranks. They warmed up to me eventually I guess." They didn't have to know that the twins were impressed that Hermione wasn't such a stickler for the rules after all and didn't hesitate to offer her guidance in their ways, especially with that brain of hers that could open up so much possibility in the world of mischief.

Hermione turned them down naturally but offered to give some insight in case they have something new. Keeping them as friends rather than enemies have their advantages, Hermione thought wryly, a flash of remembrance from her younger years passed through her mind before she shook it off.

"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Granger. Let's make that a school year-long supply of the quills and two hours of study and you've got yourself a deal."

"I second that study duration and I'll add that I'll write at least once a week to you two the entire summer," pledged Ron, knowing he'll be dragged into the study sessions and he'd like for them to be as short as possible.

"Deal!"

"Agree!"

* * *

_King's Cross Station, London_

"Won't be long now. We're just ten minutes ahead and I know you know how it's supposed to work."

A teasing tap to a nearby wall was the answer.

"Please stop knocking on walls to 'check if there are other shortcuts'," a low mutter ended with exasperation amongst the busy din of the station.

The tall, serene fellow with wavy dark head of hair carefully secured the hand at his elbow, eyeing his adventurous companion with practiced vigilance.

The tight-curled brunette beside him smiled beguilingly, breezily sidestepping a grouchy teen on their path. "We won't know until we try! There are so many mysteries afoot."

"And not all of them are meant to be answered. You don't want Mr. Weasley to lose his job over your curiosity, would you, Dee?"

The woman pouted. "No, no. Of course not, Will. I won't do him a disservice. He's such a kind man. Odd, but kind. I don't understand why the bowl we keep at the foyer is so fascinating. I'd understand our light fixtures or our appliances but the pottery?"

William Granger chuckled. "His fascination with the exact function of our key bowl aside, we should follow his explicit instructions for 'subtlety'," he carefully worded, making sure not to trigger anything with the "M" word now that they're in the know through their daughter. "Like how we don't look like we're trying to find portals to mystical places?"

"But I am being subtle, dear. I'm not calling out to the station guard for directions,"

"You would have."

"Or talk to that gentleman with the tin cup about his theories,"

"You almost did," replied William with another squeeze of her hand on his arm.

Cynthia was about to continue with a rejoinder when she noticed a small shimmer coming from her husband's jacket pocket.

"Will!" Cynthia whispered. "It's glowing!"

William glanced down in confirmation while leading her to the space between platforms nine and ten.

After a flick of a wrist and glide of their feet, the unassuming couple smoothly disappeared behind a boisterous pack of people that burst out of the trains that arrived on time.

* * *

_Platform Nine and Three Quarters, King's Cross Station, London_

Cynthia bounced impatiently on the balls of her feet, waiting for her daughter to disembark the train while her husband neatly put their Guardian Station Admittance Voucher back in his jacket pocket.

As a mother of an only child, despite seeing Hermione just last Christmas, Cynthia isn't quite ready to be used to not seeing her daughter for long periods of time. There's just so much to talk about Hermione's magical learning and experiences; and just generally Hermione's well-being over all.

William on the other hand tried valiantly to distract his dear, animated wife by reminding her of their planned family activities for summer break; any and all magic-related dialogue should be summarized unless she plans to go to Hogwarts herself.

Cynthia was interrupted from making a point when she saw their daughter walking towards them at last. William noticed her faced smoothed over with a delicate crease of her eyebrows before he turned to study Hermione himself.

From an outsider's point-of-view, she would look like she always has. Arm around a book, curls playfully bouncing as she walked, and head pointed straight ahead.

As her parents, they knew better.

Shoulders are rounder for one; eyes were unseeing, looking down on the ground, and her feet shuffled along the pavement. Their only child looked very tired. Rolling up closer with her luggage, she seemed thinner than they expected and had some bags under her eyes.

William felt a slight squeeze on his arm before he followed his wife that quick stepped to greet their daughter. Hermione gave a strained but happy smile when she looked up at them. She returned their greetings and heart-felt hugs with some fatigue.

The couple glanced at each other as they gently guided their daughter through the crowded station, with William towing the heavy luggage himself. They parked at St. Pancras so they had the time to ruminate over Hermione's unusual mood as they walked.

A few minutes later, they arrived at their car, packed their belongings and drove off. Cynthia turned to look at Hermione's reflection from the car's side pane and pondered.

She always knew her daughter is special. Aside from having a brilliant memory, Hermione's comprehension and application is exceptional. They couldn't be more proud.

She and her husband felt lucky Hermione takes to manners and good conduct quite well, despite the, let's say, setbacks, she experienced at school during her younger years. Cynthia shook her head. Emotions in younger children can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how they're brought up. Envy among peers has plagued Hermione for most of her school life back then. She fears it might plague her still.

Cynthia's heart ached at the thought of Hermione struggling to form meaningful relationships with school mates because of her cleverness. They hoped her admittance to Hogwarts wasn't a decision they'll regret; that it would be different. Then again, their own excitement and curiosity about a new accessible world and Hermione's excited begging pushed them to agree in the end.

As much as they would like to know all her goings-on at a magical boarding school, the older Grangers noticed in her early avian-delivered letters that Hermione would condense and highlight only good things: Exceeds Expectation grades, a bountiful amount of food during meals (which doesn't show in Hermione's figure honestly), the magnificent library, the teaching style of each professor, and so on. She never really mentions until her last few letters that she found friends to socialize with.

Shaking the lethargy from her shoulders, Cynthia noticed Hermione regarding her, probably feeling her stare. Her only child looked back at the reflection and raised a brow in question.

Cynthia smiled with her eyes while physically waving away the sober mood. "Any thoughts of what you want to eat for supper, my heart?"

Hermione tilted her head with a droll expression, understanding immediately her mother is up to something, especially when she called her that. It's endearing but Hermione's aware she's being led to a false sense of security. "Two bangers with some mash is good, mum. Or curry. I don't mind either."

"Oh~ I don't mind me some curry too, Dee. But I think we're out of cumin. We need to do the groceries this week," added William, carefully but smoothly swerving into their street.

"Sausages it is then."

Cynthia Granger has a remarkable trait about her. They just call it "The Knowing" within their family unit. It's not quite a woman's intuition per se. As far as they know, it is something she inherited from her mother – Hermione's grandmother. Father and daughter has always trusted it, trusted that certainty; which was a great relief for William's sake as that certainty led him to be happily married after years of fretfulness on whether his suit to the woman of his dreams would pull through or not.

Bless him.

An example of this was the time when Cynthia would suddenly blurt out that it will rain heavily despite the opposing report on the telly. Rain it would that day.

And then that time Cynthia quickly put down the fish package back on the shelf at the marketplace. The next day, around forty people had food poisoning that shopped at the same section.

The final tell, according to her father, was at a football game that Cynthia and her then-fiancé attended for his birthday. She stared at the opposing team for a few seconds and said without prompt, "They'll win".

For the affianced gentleman himself at that time, William just gave her a bemused smile and declared, "If my team loses, I'll take care of the cleaning for the rest of our marriage."

* * *

_Granger Residence, Heathgate, Hampstead, London_

Arriving home with grumbling stomachs in tow, they all left their shoes at the foyer in special shoe cabinets and exchanged them for their house slippers – those Asian sales ladies had the right of it!, declared the noble man of the house of devoted hygiene and sanitation – while Hermione's luggage was left next to the staircase to be taken care of later.

Father and daughter made a beeline to the living room to rest up while Cynthia breezed into the kitchen to prepare a pot for tea and the table for their late dinner.

While waiting for the whistle, Cynthia looked at her family thoughtfully while leaning on the counter. She watched as William tried to coax Hermione to talk more about her magical term.

Hermione meanwhile was splayed across the couch arm, debating with herself how much she should say. But knowing how persistent her parents are, it's better to 'get it off her chest' as soon as possible.

In the family, they make it a point to always be candid with each other. This was a promise made by her parents ever since their days of courtship. From what she gathered from their stories, her father's parents were quite traditional; which was appreciated by her mother's. What wasn't appreciated was the roundabout ways of polite conversations that created more frustrations than clarity.

They knew firsthand what happens when you bottle up negative feelings for too long, even without Magic churned into the mix. All the thoughts that is said but shouldn't, all the hurt spoken without filter or delay. Although they themselves are quite clever people, they'd rather save the energy and effort into finding a solution as quickly and logically as possible than muck about in unnecessary information.

It's one of the reasons why Hermione's blunt in any situation. Outspoken, others would say. Although, as it turns out, she still needs to work on reading the atmosphere before giving her opinion. What may be ok with her parents may not go well with her more sensitive peers. Or maybe that's just with boys.

Girls do mature faster than boys, Hermione thought.

As Hermione continue to weigh the pros and cons, she didn't notice until it was too late that her mother swapped places with her husband at the couch, tea on hand while he started prep work.

Straightening up and bracing herself, Hermione took a deep breath, watching her mother finish taking her first sip of tea while she took a tentative one from hers.

"Hermione. Darling. Dearest girl. I know you're exhausted and maybe wanting to collapse on your soft, downy bed after supper."

She couldn't have described that wonderful activity more –

" – but you never really got around to tell us…Were you bullied? Have you been eating much throughout the past months? Were you injured? How are your friends? Harry, right? And Ronald? Are they treating you well?"

Hermione choked on her tea, staring at her mother like a rabbit stares at a raptor's shadow closing in on its location in the snow.

Hearing her croak, her dad hummed in humor while mashing some potatoes. "You should know by now your mother is all encompassing; the all-knowing. We might as well call her Aletheia."

"Hush you." said Cynthia, raising her nose high in jest before directing a gentle expression to her daughter. "What your father is trying to say is that we know you're doing great at school. You always have. But we worry sometimes that when you're so focused on your studies, you tend to forget to take care of yourself—you need to work on your letters by the way as if they're essays, dear – You forget to interact with people even.

And no, answering your professor's questions is not considered a conversation," Cynthia added in a deadpan. Hermione snapped her mouth shut with a click and slumped down her seat.

Cynthia kissed her daughter's cheek affectionately.

"Cheer up, buttercup. Can you humor us at least with what's troubling you? It might make you feel better," William suggested with a gentle smile, seating himself at Hermione's other side, kitchen prepping done.

Hermione took another bracing sip and sheepishly began.

Presently as licensed Dental Surgeons, Cynthia and William are well practiced with keeping a level head, with nerves and hands rarely off balanced. Patients who are normally very anxious over people coming near their mouth with sharp implements are relaxed in their presence.

This countenance was put to task as countless emotions ran through the couple in response to their daughter's account of her misadventures.

"…there are students in one of other houses that stare at me funny because they found out I'm not born to magical parents. I thought it was my correct recitations during class. Or maybe that adds to it. It might be a cultural difference. I'll ask when I get back…"

"…there's a castle poltergeist that absolutely terrorize anyone anywhere. Don't worry. I keep careful account of my surroundings whenever I hear his cackle. I wonder though if he could be exorcised. I'm not sure yet if that can be arranged or requested or if it has been attempted before..."

"…and then the toad leaped in front of the Professor, startling her enough to transfigure it on the spot to a goblet. Which is conveniently the lesson for the day."

As Hermione went on from the seemingly mundane to the fantastical, Cynthia gestured them all to relocate to the dining table as she fixed up their dinner. William presented his daughter a glass of water, which she guzzled down quickly as she became more animated in her telling.

"…and I honestly didn't hear the troll until it bashed into the lavatory and…"

"…a baby dragon, mum! But then it's actually illegal to own one so we decided to help get it somewhere else. Ron said his brother studies them in Romania. A Dragonologist I think? Or was it a Dragon Keeper. Hold on…"

"…I read about it in one book that said 'Struggling or resistance to it will cause the plant to exert a greater force of constriction'. But if the victim relaxes, it also eases its grip…"

"…that puzzle was quite tricky and it felt exhilarating to solve! Of course, self-preservation was at the forefront of my mind since some of them are poison…"

"…with a last minute reprimand from our Head of House. Her name's Professor McGonagall. We boarded the train and continued to eat Harry's leftover treats. I used the Toothflossing Stringmints, don't worry. And…here we are?" she finally finished, albeit lamely.

Hermione breathed out, nervously glancing at her parents while playing with a forkful of her meal. They seem to be still processing; deliberating...

Her father slowly stood up and silently took the dishes for washing while her mother took Hermione back to the couch. Mother and daughter waited until he joined them.

After a few more minutes of staring at each other over their daughter's head, the couple suddenly kneeled at either side of Hermione and wrapped their arms around her, making her squeak in surprise.

Her parents remained quiet, letting the stillness of the evening wash over them. Their warmth made Hermione remember why she cried into her pillow at her dorm bed on the third night of her stay. Alone. For the first time. On her first and second nights, she was too overwhelmed and excited to see all the new sights and sounds of the castle, but that got old quickly once she realized she couldn't click that well with the other girls.

Hermione slowly relaxed into the group hug, comprehending that her parents weren't going to scold her about reckless behavior, or forbid her from coming back to school, like she expected. She should have remembered how supportive they've always been and how they trusted her good sense. She hugged them back, just as fiercely.

She knew this wasn't what they prepared her for. They made sure she's up to date with muggle news, local and international, despite her young age. Movies and plays would dramatize or exaggerate but the fact remains danger still exists to threaten any life. And despite the guilt she felt for delaying telling any of this to her parents, she felt abundantly relieved now.

Cynthia and William meanwhile have similar thoughts running through their minds. They never imagined something like this would happen on school grounds. In a castle. With a loch. Surrounded by a forest of the dangerous kind – if Hermione's account was accurate, which almost always was.

Plotting aside, they loosened their hold on their daughter to give her matching comforting smiles.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it? I meant taking a load of your shoulder, not the life-threatening bits." William jested as he took one hand and ran it through Hermione's hair gently, untangling some stubborn knots as he went.

Hermione giggled demurely with a watery gaze, nudging her head towards his fingers, feeling affectionate. Cynthia kissed her on the forehead and softly moved everyone to Hermione's room to help unpack her luggage before resting for the night.

As she was putting out the lights, Cynthia spotted a corner of a shiny paper peeking out of her purse. She smiled impishly in remembrance and walked to the master bedroom with a spring in her step.

* * *

_Flask Walk, Hampstead, London_

Hermione sighed as she jogged towards her energetic mother, who's waving at them in front of an upscale-looking building. Her father patted her shoulder good naturedly alongside her; his languid strides long enough to cover the distance for her every hurried step.

The morning after her refreshing talk with her family, Hermione rubbed an eye while walking into the kitchen with a pocket book. She caught her mother wearing very form-fitting work-out clothes, humming a cheery tune while preparing breakfast.

"Mum..? Are you going somewhere?" Hermione spoke slowly, blinking twice, still processing the uncommon sight. She never pegged her mother as someone that would pursue athletic activities. Ever.

Her mother smiled brightly. "Good morning, my heart. We're going out!"

"We?" Hermione emphasized with raised eyebrows.

"Yes. We. As a family, darling. At least once sleeping handsome comes down from his pillowy tower," replied Cynthia, trying to keep a straight face.

Hermione was about to quip about kissing the deep sleeper awake but then stopped with a slight blush on her cheeks. As much as she values how loving a couple her parents are, she draws the line on actually imagining them doing any displays of intimate affection. She asked instead, "Where? Does dad even know?"

"He'll understand once he sees the clothes I strategically placed at our room."

"…You put them over his face again, didn't you?" Hermione held her giggles, tucking into the pancakes, and apple slices on the table. This particular stratagem of her mother's was a favorite. Since her dad never moves from his position sleeping on his back, he's often vulnerable to his wife's mischief.

"He'll wake soon enough. Besides, you're not the only one withholding information in your letters. We wanted to surprise you. We tried it first for ourselves – to check its legitimacy of course – before we thought it might be fun for you too!" continued her mother excitedly.

Apparently they've been attending a special class, twice a week, for the past five months. They've been signed up by a neighbor that raved about finding inner peace and calm in her life, especially as news and rumors of riots happening every once in a while has been happening in the country.

Hermione was intrigued. As highly fascinating as it has been to experience magic and how it makes things convenient for daily life, much as how science and technology has been the equivalent of, in her opinion, for the non-magical, it's always exciting to learn something that would help improve herself. It feels more rewarding when there is physical effort involved.

From her understanding and observation of her classmates that grew up in magical households, magic makes a person a little spoiled; too lazy even – a picture of Ron's bored face during lessons popped up in her mind. She rolled her eyes.

And from previous thoughts in her letters and discussions throughout last Christmas break, Hermione spoke about the intrinsic and extrinsic complexities of magic with her parents: Talks on the difference between pharmaceutical drugs, and draughts and potions; Dialogue on the differences of ordinary animals and magical beasts; Conversations on the similarities, differences, and history of Alchemy, Chemistry, Astronomy, Herbology, Horticulture, Potions, and, Molecular Gastronomy.

That last bit was a tossed in topic, honestly. Dad had an obsession about it back in his uni days.

How food science and dentistry relate, Hermione has no idea.

It was dad that actually encouraged the special class, her mother said, after doing his own research. He reasoned that the sessions they're taking adhere to self-improvement and self-discipline, not only of the body but of the mind – and for some people like their neighbor, of the spirit.

"He said 'It might help Hermione manage her magic!'" her mother relayed with a smile.

Hermione was ecstatic. "That's brilliant, mum!" She side-hugged her mother, feeling touched again by her parents thoughtfulness.

"Hey! Since it's my idea, don't I get a good morning hug too?" a voice pouted at the entrance of the dining area.

Hermione giggled, welcoming her dad with a bear hug.

"Now that's more like it. Any pancakes left? And thank you dear for that wake-up call. It took my breath away. Literally," said William lightly, kissing his wife at her temple.

"You're very welcome you ham. Now, sweetie, go up to your room and wear something comfortable," said Cynthia as she poured honey-lemon juice in a glass for her groggy husband. "And bring an extra pair just in case!"

Looking up at the building again as she got closer, Hermione frowned. Did I agree to go to a gym?

She got distracted from her brooding when she heard someone talking to her left.

A man was sat at a bench outside the building, talking into a device next to his head, which looked like a smaller version of a two-way radio. It was black, which contrasted well with his silver-grey locks – quite a similar coloring to a dove's now that she thinks about it. She also noticed she's just about as tall as him, sitting there upright. He doesn't seem to be as tall as Hagrid but his physique still hints of a towering figure.

He kept talking with rolling 'r's and a deeper 'l' sound. Like from the word "pull" but it's applied to most of his words that start with Ls. His language seems harsher than what she's heard from English or French – like there's a minimal amount of articulation happening on his lips because he feels cold? If that makes sense.

Maybe he's from somewhere way up north?

Definitely not Scotland though.

Her father was similarly transfixed but more focused on the device the man is holding than his nationality.

Cynthia walked over to them, still smiling but giving the stranger a discreet glance. She shrugged when they silently gestured if she knows him. She took their arms and pushed them off in the right direction.

"Come on you two. The session starts at nine and I want to introduce Hermione to the teacher before we start."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hi I'm fairly new at writing but a long time reader. My brain just wouldn't leave me alone. Anyway, I pouted a little when we don't get to see much background story about the Granger parental units because they were, apparently, canonically, too boring. This is my way of doing a bit of character study and of course, wanting to give some joy to the world by adding to the fandom.
> 
> EDIT 10/10/2020: Requested translation / explanation:
> 
> Prepaid envelopes - they're a real thing not only in the UK but in the global postage system. They're just more frequently used in businesses. Buying postage stamps and sticking them on yourself is still cheaper for personal mail.
> 
> Bangers and mash - 'sausages and mash potatoes' in English. Back in the early 1900s, meat had such a high water content that they literally 'bang' against the pots or pans while cooking them.
> 
> Alatheia - Greek Goddess of Truth / Roman Spirit of Truth
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	2. Granger Summer 1992: The Meeting

_Deep Roots Studio, Flask Walk, Hampstead, London (1 st Session)_

An incredibly sweet and cooling smell welcomed Hermione as she took her first steps inside the surprisingly expansive space. Instead of the heavy and clunky exercise equipment she expected, the room has only minimal but tasteful decorations, with color-coordinated pillows and mats spaced equidistant from each other forming a circle, surrounding a single pillow in the middle.

Unsurprisingly, she gravitated to one wall of the room that displayed small indoor plants and books; some catching her eye: _The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying; The Heart Treasure of the Enlightened Ones: The Practice of View, Meditation, and Action; Shaolin & Taoist: Herbal Training Formulas; One Day One Lifetime: An Illustrated Guide to the Spirit, Practice, and Philosophy of Seido Karate Meditation._

Movement at her periphery made her look up. Two women were chatting pleasantly near a couple of speakers, back dropped by massive windows hugging around the two other walls, opening up the space even more with cheery sunlight and lively foliage filtering through.

From the relative quiet, Hermione surmised they were the first ones there. Her mother’s design most probably. She processed everything for a few moments before finally nodding her approval at parents who quietly let her take in her new surroundings.

“I honestly thought you’re going to trap me in a fitness center, mum,” she joked dryly. Hermione wouldn’t have minded that if it’s as clean and tranquil as this place. It’s the sweaty, testosterone-filled machismo kind that she’s not so keen about.

She remembered she instantly regretted visiting Harry at the Quidditch pitch locker for a pep talk. The moment she smelt the place and heard the rough housing, she turned tail and ran before the match began.

Never again.

At least they’re not flying, Hermione consoled to herself while admiring the shiny and spotless hard wood floor.

That’s one physical activity she’s glad she can drop next term.

“Well it technically is, butter cup. You’re going to carry your own weight to help you along with any fitness you want to see on your body. You’ll see. But we think that could come later and have you concentrate on improving your mind. But I gather your exact routine will depend on the teacher,” chimed her father patiently. “For example, ever since I’ve improved on my arm and shoulder muscles, it’s easier for me to use my extraction forceps now!” he cheered.

There’s something unsettling about a dentist who would be so pleased to pull someone’s teeth out, Hermione thought, looking away with raised brows.

Giggling, her mother added her two quids. “The teacher would create routines unique to each participant depending on their needs. She’s the one with the blonde hair, over at the sound system. I’m not sure who she’s talking with though. She’s definitely not a participant,” her mother squinted with a tilt of her head. “She’s wearing the studio logo on her shirt. We’ve never seen her since we signed up for the sessions.”

As if feeling the curious eyes on her by instinct, the guest inclined her head and spotted the trio immediately. The teacher looked over to them and smiled wide, waving them forward.

“Welcome back to the studio, Dee, Will. I was just talking about you renting the space for the morning on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and some weekends, like you requested. My boss said it won’t be a problem considering my usual class schedules,” she chirped before bending down to take a look at Hermione better.

And hello there. I assume you’re their little lady?” said the friendly blonde, holding out a hand to shake.

“Hermione Granger, miss,” returning the gesture with a shy smile.

“Oh! You called me ‘Miss’! I like you already. I’m Susan Smith. Call me Susan. Su for short,” shaking Hermione’s hand more enthusiastically before placing her hands on her hips.

Hermione can already tell why her parents like the place aside from aesthetics.

“You’re just in luck! Let me introduce you all to my boss, the owner of this place who has graced us with her presence this month,” gestured Susan grandly to the other woman next to her with a chuckle. “She normally checks in maybe twice or thrice a year, depending on business so you wouldn’t have seen her before now.”

The said owner stepped forward and allowed them to take her in.

Standing relaxed, a petite hand on her hip, she smiled warmly at the small family, her almond shaped eyes and light complexion, with an undertone of brown, led them to believe she is comfortable under the sun. Her slight figure makes her look younger than her probable age would show – owning your own space in London either means you came from old money and inherited the area, or you’ve invested in other business ventures to save up a substantial amount of capital to afford the place –

Then again, exercise has been known to help with maintaining skin elasticity.

“Good morning. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I am Miya Lebedeva. You may call me Mrs. Swan if that makes you more comfortable. Otherwise, you may call me by my first name,” she greeted with a well-modulated voice, not unlike a radio broadcaster’s. It’s quite pleasant to listen to.

The Grangers were fascinated while murmuring a greeting back, with Hermione getting a sense of deja vu from hearing the intonation of the owner’s full name. As much as London is a hotpot of diverse cultures, they have never met someone with a face, voice, and name like hers put together. And the way she said her last name…

Like meerkats on the lookout, all three Grangers looked behind themselves in synchronicity at the gentleman that’s still talking on his device outside, and back towards the Asian-looking woman. In contrast to the seated stranger, whose casual-formal shirt and slacks are in tones of a light stormy sky – and his body language striking him as an unapproachable figure – the woman has a more vibrant dress and a hospitable air to her.

The owner blinked, looking over their shoulders in an elegant side bend before straightening up with a cute giggle.

“Ah! Good eye you three. That’s my busy husband. His whole name is a mouthful so you may call him Mr. Swan. Or Mr. Lebedev as it were.”

Hermione tilted her head, a small frown on her brow. She can’t help herself from asking, “Why do you have different names Mrs…Le-bede-va? Is Swan like a stage name?”

She doesn’t feel comfortable calling a stranger without some form of address at first meeting. Just calling her by first name seems way too casual.

But this is such a great opportunity. Hermione always planned to learn other languages in case there were spells that couldn’t be translated to Latin. Today’s as good as any other to start, even if it’s just a surname. The syllables are easy enough but her cadence will need some work.

Mrs. Lebedeva studied her patiently before explaining with another smile, “Our last name literally means “Swan” in English, so it’s easily digestible for any western speakers’ hearing. In Eastern and Southeastern Europe, there are male and female forms of surnames. I chose to accept my husband’s family name, _Lebedev_ , which turned into _Lebedeva_ upon acquiring it. The added suffix depends on the last name though. They could add a ‘skaya’ instead. Like _Yeshevskaya_ from _Yeshevsky_.”

She went on to summarily discuss about the patronymic name system and having no equivalent for ‘Mister’ or ‘Missus’ when addressing a stranger. Its either you address them by their first and patronymic name, or call them certain forms of address based on age.

The petite woman turned her gaze up to the older Grangers next. “My husband might not have the time to introduce himself today. Maybe another day. He just started his call with one of his business partners in the Nordic countries when you arrived. It’s why he has that device before its scheduled release in November actually. It’s called a ‘cellular phone’. It’ll be the future in communication! We’re so thrilled about it!” Mrs. Lebedeva cheered with an excited single clap of her hands.

William whistled. “I’ve been hearing about that with my mates. Is there any chance we could pre-order locally, Mrs. Swan?” he said with a winning smile, eyes sparkling, opting for the ‘western version’ of her name.

“Dad!”

“William!”

Mother and daughter were horrified at his forward behavior; getting chummy with a stranger they just met. But the owner didn’t seem to mind. She laughed instead.

“Oh it’s alright. They’re actually planning to market the hand-held devices in the following weeks. But my husband is very sneaky. He knows using one out in the open like that will attract curious potential buyers. That’s why I know he’ll have no qualms of me telling you about it,” she reasoned with an amused smile, her index finger and thumb positioned in a gesture that means money. “You’ll have to ask him about it. I’m sure he’ll be glad to do business with you and your friends.”

Hermione was intrigued herself and impressed with the stratagem. But she still felt discomfited of potentially offending the proprietress. But her mother, bless her, had perfect timing as always, “I’m sure it’ll be a huge success, Mrs. Lebedeva. Landlines can only do so far when you’re stationary. It’s definitely a step up from payphones.”

Her mother suddenly had her by the shoulders, and thrusted her forward towards the smiling women. “On the other hand, we’d like to register our daughter for sessions during this summer. We wanted this to be a family bonding experience.”

As smooth as a vacuum cleaner, mum, Hermione thought with a wry smile.

“Oh? We haven’t had participants as young as her before. Most of the time, young people would fall asleep or won’t have the patience to go through with the motions,” Mrs. Lebedeva queried, raising a challenging eyebrow.

Hermione straightened her back – Gryffindor pride rearing its ugly head. She turned towards the owner and affirmed determinedly that she’s interested. She might not have understood that well yet what she’s getting into but she trusts her parents’ sound judgement. She doesn’t want their efforts to have gone to waste. She’s aware, that in the coming years, she won’t be able to connect with them as much as now. And the more she spends her time in the magical world, the more they get left behind.

She wants to appreciate whatever time she has left with them.

Mrs. Lebedeva considered her for a few more moments, arms lightly crossed with hands at her elbows. It took a lot from Hermione to not fidget. She didn’t think her own judgment of character was off with the proprietress but her stare feels as penetrating as Professor McGonagall’s during detention.

She never thought she’d experience that again so soon.

Finally, Mrs. Lebedeva hummed and turned to the teacher, “Susan, do you mind if I take over this? It’s been awhile since I’ve taught anyone,” she explained as she walked back to the stereo and fiddled with some dials and buttons. A lilting sound from a flute started to play, together with some type of stringed instrument from the music player, followed by the natural sound of a quiet thud of something that caused an equally soft splash of water.

Susan dropped her jaw with wide eyes before stuttering, “Of course, Mrs. Swan! It’s no trouble at all.” She turned to the family with a grin. “You lot must have really wicked lucky. Mrs. Swan was the one that taught me everything I know before offering me a job here. Speaking off, I need to finish up some paperwork. I’ll just leave some towels before I go. If you need me, I’ll be at the office adjacent to the wash room where you can refresh yourselves before you go. Have fun!”

As the door shut behind Susan, the proprietress turned teacher directed the small family to take the three mats facing away from the entrance of the studio while taking up a position on the single pillow in front of them. She made them sit on crossed legs, checking to make sure they’re comfortable.

The older Grangers didn’t mind receiving the same set of instructions as if they’re still on day one. Since Mrs. Swan is a new teacher, it feels like a new experience all over again. Her melodic voice drifted towards them as she started.

“I want to start our day first by thanking you for choosing our studio for your family activity. I will only serve as a guide and not dictate your journey to your individual self-discovery. Since this is your summer break, Miss Granger, think of these sessions as… retreats for your body, mind, and spirit – for the last, in not the strictest religious sense; unless you’re inclined to that. Think of it as a re-arranging of your mind, setting it to keep your thoughts positive. This will help declutter the vast amounts of information up there and free up more space for creative endeavors.

Or anything you would like to put your mind to.”

Mrs. Lebedeva went on a few more details like the timing of their sessions, asking for a courtesy call in case there is a schedule conflict and what not. Hermione smiled in appreciation, nodding along her understanding of the objective of the class.

Their new teacher began by showing the way to breath, encouraging them to take in the scent and sound of the room, rotating their shoulders in time with their breathes, leading their bodies to ease into some of the initial stretches.

Time passed very slowly for Hermione as she was given more attention to practice the motions. Her exact routine will be established after figuring out what she likes best.

Being used to multitasking and processing various information almost all at once in one seating, the measured procession of movement and the quiet atmosphere lulled her too much, making her drowsy. She felt guilty for becoming inattentive, for the first time in her life, in class. She shook it off as best as she could. Glancing behind her while doing some stretches, her parents were in their own worlds for their own routines already.

Their instructor sat in a ‘lotus’ position, observing them, with Hermione in the middle receiving most of her attention. And because of that, she was able to sense her youngest participant’s internal struggle right away. She smoothly moved to a kneeling position in front of the young girl, gesturing for her to seat back in her crossed legged position again.

“Miss Granger, is there something troubling your mind? Are you having difficulty concentrating on the movements?” she said kindly in a low tone, politely respecting her space and that of her parents.

Hermione shook her head sadly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lebedeva. No, your instructions are well made. I think I’m not used to this kind of quiet.”

The teacher gave her a peculiar look and a tilt of her head, “Have you never been to a library before then? Or is your neighborhood noisy?”

Hermione surprised herself with a sudden quiet laugh, cutting it off out of embarrassment for disturbing the silence. “Quite the opposite, ma’am. I love reading. The library or any other place with lots of books is perfect for me. And our neighborhood is peaceful so it’s a tranquil kind of quiet. Here there’s not much…stimulation?”

The instructor hummed, tapping a finger on her chin, “Ah, you’re used to the hustle and bustle. I imagine even the sound of traffic or the hum of appliances might have soothed you unconsciously. You might also have boisterous friends? Classmates? You didn’t have the chance to develop your tranquility yet.

_Sou desu ka…_ let’s focus on the library then. I’m assuming you like to spend your time at the one in school?” Hermione nodded eagerly.

“Aside from reading, what do you do?” Mrs. Lebedeva’s focus on her never wavered, even as she silent gestured to her father to correct his stance.

“Well, I like working on my assignments and essays there. Less people bother me and I can reference more books with the entire width of the table available to me,” Hermione whispered matter-of-factly, trying to hide a yawn by blinking rapidly.

“So the environment is quiet and you can do a routine without interruption. Which is exactly what we’re doing now,” The proprietress pointed out. “What else is interesting at your school library?”

“I like to practice for my lessons. It’s a bit tricky sometimes with the movement, and since there are less people around, I won’t poke anyone’s eye out,” Hermione fidgeted, her knees starting to fall asleep with her mind along with it.

“Ah. Charms wand work then? Or was it for a test in Transfiguration?”

“Both I suppose since one needs a good – ” Hermione answered absently before freezing in place. She tensed up as her mind woke up instantly from her lethargy and snapped her head to gape up at the teacher so fast her parents thought she might develop a crick. The older Grangers were similarly in a gawking state.

“ A– Are you – how did – but when…” Hermione stammered, mind working frantically, not knowing if this broke the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy. Even if Mrs. Lebedeva is actually what Hermione thinks she is, this building is built for muggles, isn’t it? And she didn’t exactly tell anything but thoughtlessly agree to a question. That could give her leeway, right?

Hermione desperately tried to recall the clauses she might have breached, her eyes moving around the space, even searching if Susan was lingering in the room.

She only passed her first year! She couldn’t afford to get expelled. She shook off the incoming dark thoughts on picking up muggle schooling again.

When she looked back at her teacher again, she saw her lips curved up in muted amusement. But after looking at Hermione’s frazzled expression, Mrs. Lebedeva seem to take pity and moved in. She gently soothed Hermione with a hand on her shoulder and another at her back, rubbing it in a slow rhythm. “Easy, Miss Granger. It’s alright. All is well. This is a safe space for individuals to practice their craft. _Magical_ or not,” she emphasized. “Yes. I am a witch. The moment you walked in, the room notified me of your…special presence. _We_ made it that way.” She answered Hermione’s almost-questions in order in a calming, even tone.

The Grangers bodily sighed in relief before collectively looking over at Mr. Swan behind them, noticing right away the stressed wording the proprietress used in her last sentence. He was staring right back at them all with mild curiosity and a raised eyebrow before rotating his head forward again to attend to his call. His arm draped the back of the bench and seeming to relax back into his long-distanced conversation.

“You’re a – But you have a business. A muggle business. You both know how to deal in muggle businesses but still practice magic,” Hermione whispered in realization. “Then you could –“

Mrs. Lebedeva interrupted her with a nod and steady smile. With a flick of a finger and a quick glance towards the entrance, blinders slid down the glass doors and the music changed into café bossa nova music.

The trio gasps in varying levels of wonder.

In her excitement, Hermione straightened up into a kneeling position. “I know doing business needs permits and the like; do you have to check in with our Ministry of Magic? You don’t live here often, Miss Smith said. Do you travel magically? Or did you travel by sea through a ship? Or air through a plane? This area is safe? So it’s sanctioned by the Ministry? How – “

Mrs. Lebedeva laughed softly as she held onto Hermione’s shoulders. “Calm down, Miss Granger. We’ll get to all that. Now, let’s try something simple while we’re on the subject and more eager now for your first session.” She then moved to sit down at her pillow again.

“Look at your parents first and then look at me. Try to find something different in me that you couldn’t see on your parents.”

Hermione nodded and changed her position so she could see all the adults in her field of vision.

Her dad waved with a thumbs-up, showing his support. This was followed by a light slap on his shoulder courtesy of her mother, who turned back to Hermione while eyeing the revealed witch instructor.

Hermione looked closely and could only see her parents as she always seen them every day. She gasps though when she turned to face the teacher.

Mrs. Lebedeva also sat still for her with a smile. This time, Hermione understood that the vibrant air that welcomed them a while ago is exactly that. Pulsating energy is subtly emitted out of her instructor’s body in controlled burst. A moment later, it evened out until it’s as non-existent as her parents’.

Hermione tried her best to tone down her enthusiasm. This is the first time, separate from Hogwarts, the Leaky Cauldron, or Diagon Alley that she can openly talk about magic outside of their home and witness it; witnessed _wandless_ magic and magical auras for that matter. Or what she thinks as auras. She ponders if she could take Divination in her third year as an additional on the two other elective classes she’s already planned on taking.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lebedeva. It’s just…you’re the first witch I met that’s well adjusted to muggle life. I couldn’t even notice it before you showed me. When we first discovered I can attend Hogwarts, I had to conform or else I’ll be left behind,” said Hermione as she thought back on the day she got her letter.

Every strange happening at home since she turned nine years old made sense that faithful day an owl swooped in at their dinner table: the blooming flowers in her mother’s favorite windowsill despite the cold; the warmth of the living room regardless of the unplugged heater, and the unlit fireplace; and the quick healing on Hermione’s hands after she fell down the stairs and got nicked by the metal railings.

Everything made even better sense once Mr. Arthur Weasley arrived a few days later and explained in more detail, as was one of his duties in the Ministry of Magic.

A _Ministry_ of _Magic_ , Hermione’s younger self thought with awe.

Speaking of Mr. Weasley…

“The few wizards and witches I did see that tried to ‘blend in’ with the muggle population aren’t doing a good job at it, treating everyday objects like it’s, like it’s alien technology from space or something.” Hermione gesticulated wildly in emphasis. The picture she painted was highly amusing to all of the adults.

Mrs. Lebedeva was interrupted from answering then by a distant coo and a light flap of wings coming from behind her.

Wait, flap of wings? Owls are supposed to be silent flyers.

The Grangers were in for another surprise that day. Instead of an owl – which they now associate with windows and mail – a pretty bird flew in from a gap in one of the windows and landed next to the proprietress, a rolled up paper attached to its back, wearing a remarkable body collar they couldn’t quite see in detail.

While Mrs. Lebedeva excused herself to skim her message, Hermione watched as the bird hopped in her direction with a bob of its head. It clicked then that it’s a large pigeon or dove. She put her palm out in encouragement, her parents slowly closing in at her back, watching with great interest.

It did rotate its head a few times, taking a good look at them with either of its eyes. Up close, it’s bigger than any of the Grangers have ever seen in London parks or sidewalks; about the size of an average Barn Owl perhaps? And it looked…fancy? Its body is covered in soft-looking russet plumes while its head and tail feathers are white as snow. The brown feathers close to its head fluffed up in such a way that made it look like its wearing a mini fur collar.

When it moved around Hermione and the older Grangers with a pitter patter of its feet, it started to stomp rhythmically, bowing its head in time, tail feathers fanned out like a peacock, surprising the family. It cooed melodically in time with its movement. Overall, the performance made for an adorable sight.

“Oh that’s surprising. He likes you. And on first sight too,” interjected Mrs. Lebedeva with a smile as she made her letter disappear like a stage magician would: closing her hands over the parchment until it was just…gone.

She made a particular gesture next and cooed which made the charming dove instantly fly to her outstretched arm, cuddling close and nibbling on her chin as she brought him closer to her chest. “I think this is a good time to end today’s session. Susan will be looking to prepare for afternoon and early evening classes and would want to grab a bite to eat. Would you like to join us?”

“No, I think we’re good. We didn’t expect – well, we didn’t expect anything like this today!” exclaimed Cynthia in a happy daze. “Mind if we take a rain check? I don’t think we’ll be able to stop the deluge of questions once you get us started.”

“I understand,” replied Mrs. Lebedeva, giggling with a side head tilt.

* * *

_The Wells Tavern, Flask Walk, Hampstead, London_

Picking a nice secluded table at the first floor, the family of three fell silent, stupefied, on their seats while waiting for their luncheon.

Her mother has that scheming look to her face again. Her dad on the other hand couldn’t keep still anymore and blurted, “So! How about that cellular phone? I’m serious about buying one of those. Do you think there’s reception in your school? Might be faster than owl mail,” William opened casually, playing with his table napkin.

Cynthia tittered and rolled her eyes before turning to their daughter and stage-whispered, “Men and their machines.” Hermione’s answering giggle finally broke the tension on their table.

“We definitely can’t speak of it here but, I’m feeling you’ll be more excited for the next session, won’t you, dear?” said her mother with a wink.

“Two days from now. I can’t wait. There so much to ask. She could help me so much,” said Hermione impatiently but with relief.

“Then better ready a notebook for your Q & A, buttercup. And hey, we’re there with you. If the Mister isn’t busy again, we’ll be able to navigate the ‘D. Alley’ circles by the time we need to buy your school books next month.”

And wheedle his way towards getting that device no doubt, thought Hermione in amusement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Everyone needs support, even our trusty and knowledgeable lioness~
> 
> EDIT 10/10/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> The books in Mrs. Lebedeva's bookshelf are real. Try to check them out~
> 
> quid - simply put is just another term for the pound sterling of the UK currency. I used a play on words when Cynthia Granger added her 'two quids'. The original American slang is 'add/put your/my two cents' - which is adding your/my own tentative opinion. On the other hand, if you use 'be quids in', it means you're making a profit in English slang.
> 
> sou desu ka - 'is that so? / oh I see' in Japanese. or something similar to that phrasing.
> 
> Fancy pigeons / doves are also real. Check out the variety out there~ (although unlike in my story, they're not really good flyers. Most of their beautiful feathers are for show, not flight.)
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	3. Granger Summer 1992: The Offer

_Granger Residence, Heathgate, Hampstead, London_

“Don’t bring any extra clothes today, Will. I have a feeling we’ll be taking our time today.”

“You haven’t steered us wrong yet, dear. Maybe an extra bag for Hermione then?”

“Books?”

“Books. Oh! And the cupcakes! Definitely need room for those.”

-{-}-

“Hermione! Breakfast!”

“Two minutes please!”

The young witch scratched a few more lines before returning her attention to her other notes, double checking anything she might have missed before organizing the pages in a neat pile, setting the books she’s satisfied with back in her trunk.

Ever since they came home two days ago, she went straight to her spell books, looking through the well-worn and bookmarked pages for her scribbled thoughts and ideas. She compiled an initial list of concepts she was a little shy to discuss with her professors, a few theories she hoped to understand better.

She wanted to do well in her studies but not at the cost of getting too much unwanted attention from her peers. She’s had enough of being the ‘teacher’s pet’ in her old schools, she wryly thought as she reflexively rubbed left wrist.

She closed her eyes, breathing in through her nose and letting air out slowly through her mouth. She did this a couple more times until she felt more settled.

“I’m better. I will be better.”

* * *

_Deep Roots Studio, Flask Walk, Hampstead, London (1.5 th Session)_

“ _Dobroye_ _utro_ ,” hailed a smooth, quiet voice as the small family of three pass through the sliding door of the studio again.

The greeting didn’t hold their attention though as they were thoroughly distracted by the changes in the now more expansive space. More book shelves lined up the one wall with – from what Hermione could guess – magic-related references next to the various muggle books. More plants with medicinal properties are growing into the wood of the shelves instead of on the pots, which avoided any of the texts next to them. Replacing the glass windows on the other two walls were floor to ceiling glass doors decorated with fine tawny engravings. They lead straight into the sunny garden at the back. And finally, the circle of mats was moved to the right side of the space, making more room for a cozy area of settees with what they assumed was a tea service tray near it. An ornamental, hand-hammered brass container was in the center of the tray, with a stout teapot curiously on top of it.

The steam that lazily swirled from the container led their eyes up to the new design on the ceiling, where before it was low, and covered in simple wooden panels and a light fixture in an oriental design and shaped in a three dimensional rectangle, now its high, painted in a soft blue hue and a vast gilded painting of clouds. A large predatory-looking white and gold bird with six wings weaved in and out of the frame; its sharp stare had them rooted in place in awe when it flew in the middle of the picture to observe them.

Hermione broke from her craned position as footsteps sounded closer to them from the hallway going to the other rooms. She tapped her parents’ arms discretely, staring blankly at the person putting down a tall cup of something very strong-smelling on the tray.

“Good morning,” repeated the gentleman from the other day with a straight face. “Have a seat. Miya is just finishing a transaction.”

They all blinked and remained standing, manners kicking in in response to the man’s formal bearing.

His eyebrows rose slightly before his expression cleared in understanding and inclined his head. “I apologize. We have not been introduced. Miya won’t mind if I do so without her presence.” He walked up to them in long languid strides, and bowed, surprising them all. “I am Maksimillian Vasilovich Lebedev. You may call me Mr. Lebedev. Mr. Swan is also acceptable,” he added in an afterthought, bowing again. His voice was a nice low baritone, his enunciation flawless. He would be highly attractive if only his towering presence weren’t so intimidating.

Mrs. Lebedeva wasn’t exaggerating about his name, Hermione mused before she felt a pang of anxiety, unsure of how to return his greeting. She never thought she needed to know the customs of other countries unless it’s related to her studies. She’d have to convince her parents for a quick stop over in the bookstore on their way home. But for now when in doubt…

She glanced up to her dad, watching what he'd do. He seemed indecisive for a few seconds, studying their tall host, before smiling cautiously and bowed back, albeit a little stiff. Her mother though, even in her joggers, did a flawless curtsy with a small flourish of her hands. Hermione went with that but without the fanfare.

Mr. Lebedev’s approving look broke the unconsciously tense atmosphere and held his arm out in welcome. “Please, have a seat. My wife will be with us in a few short minutes.” He ushered them further into the lounge area while asking how they’d like their tea.

Hermione watched in fascinated study as the fair-haired gentleman prepared and served. From measuring the tea leaves of their choice – stored in smartly labeled canisters displayed at the bottom of the tea tray – to pouring boiling water into a teapot, the little spout near the bottom of the metal container opened up by itself and let off a discreet babble of gently flowing water.

When her dad was interested to try the tea their host was drinking, Mr. Lebedev simply nodded before wandlessly and wordlessly transfiguring one of the extra teacups into another pot. Hermione’s widened eyes hinted to her parents that it wasn’t a usual sight to see since all they knew about magic was what Hermione knew so far, and everything seem to require the use of a wand.

“Good choice. It’s usually a beverage for the winter season; keeps you very warm. But it’s high in caffeine, effective in waking you up. Sip slowly,” he instructed succinctly.

William choked after he took a deep sip, “Ack! Uhh…that’s very…robust.”

“Indeed.”

“What’s in it?”

“Concentrated black tea leaves. Caramel. Dried cranberries – “

“Ah, so that’s the sweet and sour – “

“ – and fresh tobacco.”

“…”

“You gave me nicotine-laced tea?!” cried her father, looking into his cup with alarm.

Hermione raised an eyebrow while stifling her giggles. She thought she saw their formal host use his cup to hide a smile. Cynthia was outright laughing at her husband while he sheepishly apologized.

“No. It’s perfectly safe. The leaves are soaked overnight. The water draws away the nicotine and toxins. When dried and brewed with other ingredients, it adds a smoke-like depth to the drink,” explained Mr. Lebedev with cool nonchalance. He then narrowed his gaze at Hermione. “The process is not unlike preparing ingredients for brewing, yes? I’m curious Miss Granger, would you know the properties of the Exstimulo Potion?”

“Oh. N-no, sir.” Hermione answered with a small voice and wide eyes.

“Ah forgive me. It’s in France that has the winged horses. It might not be commonly taught here. When is the best time to extract the Moonseed for a Moonseed Poison?”

“I…”

“Hmm. At what proximity will the Fatiguing Infusion affect a human?

“I…”

“No? How about a basic: which curse does an Oculus Potion counteract?”

“...basic?”

Cynthia and William looked over worriedly to their fidgeting daughter, hesitant to think if she was just nervous from being suddenly asked questions or she honestly didn’t know the answers. They’ve done study sessions similar to this last summer and she always answered confidently and with detail, even though at that time she hasn’t started school yet.

Mr. Lebedev hummed again and kept his silence, inclining his head with a small frown of his brow. He didn’t seem all that disapproving but with his face set indifferently, they couldn’t tell exactly what’s on his mind, which made Hermione even more nervous, rubbing her wrist again in self-doubt.

A flute-like cooing interrupted the heavy atmosphere.

Everyone turned to the sound in relief and met the smiling eyes of the proprietress, a fluffy blue-grey dove with bright ringed eyes perched content on her shoulder. “Good morning! What did I miss? Ooh, are those cupcakes?”

She took in everyone’s body language then, raising an eyebrow to her husband in silent question. He stood up and just waited until his wife took her place beside him, receiving a sweet thank you from her for an offered cup from the ‘ladies’ pot made with _Russian Earl Grey_ , which is basically black tea with Thai lemongrass and sun-ripened orange peels added for a refreshing taste. She seems to ignore the awkward air.

“I just finished talking with Susan. She’ll be changing her off days to Thursdays and Saturdays in preparation for a relative’s wedding next month. I arranged for her classes to be rescheduled so we’d have the entire day today for ourselves. Isn’t it great?”

Without waiting for a reply, she plowed on, “I assumed we’d need a slight adjustment to our planned routine for you, Miss Granger. I propose we defer your session to next Thursday as we now have a whole day, instead of half. I’m sure we’d be discussing a fair ‘few’ things,” the proprietress teased warmly.

Hermione immediately grabbed onto her cue. “I understand, Mrs. Lebedeva. I actually do have a couple of things I’d like to clarify.”

“Good, good. Identifying the problem is already halfway leading to the solution. We need to also know where you are right now in your education. If it’s alright for you to share, may we know what subjects you took last year and what you’re taking next year? What are your references so far?”

“We haven’t received our school shopping list yet for next term. We might receive it two weeks from now. I thought you might ask so here’s a list of my first year subjects and books.”

Hermione proceeded to take out two separate lists from her folder, explaining how each professor decides on the appropriate material depending on the year of the student. The added tomes on her list are things she felt she should read on since she didn’t grow up in a magical household.

All was silent as one couple studied the parchments in contemplation while the other pair studied the other and Hermione, who was fidgeting the bottom of her shirt while also staring anxiously at the Lebedevs.

“Hogwarts,” Mr. Lebedev suddenly scoffed, shaking his head with a wry grimace.

Hermione felt her hackles rise from indignation. Never has she met anyone that had a bad word about her school before. She bit her tongue, lest her temper gets the better of her. She’d rather like to hear everything what the foreign gentleman has to say.

“I have heard stories of your school’s…reputation. Let us say they only see one side of the coin to see the bigger picture.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Exactly.”

“Coo! Coo!” tooted the little dove, hopping over to Mr. Lebedev’s folded leg and stared at him as if in reprimand. He simply gave it a flat stare.

“What Maxime means,” chimed Mrs. Lebedeva with a pointed look, “is that the general education of your school seems…lacking. Holding back, perhaps?

We understand of course that the educational system in one country will be different from another’s, based on culture, weather, needs and wants of the society, and the like.

But considering your country’s history, we thought your educators would know better than to withhold pertinent information.”

When the Grangers still looked befuddled, Mr. Lebedev broke his staring contest with his feathery adversary and simply stated, "Your Lord Voldemort."

“Well maybe not, _your_ lord,” Mrs. Lebedeva clarified, when she noticed Hermione’s widened eyes. “We meant the self-proclaimed one. Quite arrogant if you ask me. I doubt it’s even a name. More like a title. _Ne, koi_?”

Mr. Lebedev shrugged, but the slight tick of his brow was duly noted. His wife soothed her hand on his bicep in response to his mild irritation.

“You…said his name. You’re not afraid?” Hermione asked tentatively, with a shy tilt of her head, waves of brown hair moving forward, as if to shield her from a negative response.

Mr. Lebedev softened his gaze as he explained, “’Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself’. Your own Headmaster said this in a newspaper interview. We just call him a _zhulik_ , or rogue one. His influence remained mostly in the United Kingdom and its neighbors.

A few were tempted in the Balkans but none further east and north. Various…circumstances made sure of this,” he finished with heavy meaning that Hermione isn’t sure she has the courage to ask about.

“Our point is, we may need to do more for your training, judging by the state of your curriculum. It’s honestly not a good start.”

Hermione perked at the word ‘training’. Mrs. Lebedeva saw this and smiled. “Miss Granger. I know this is only our second meeting but,” here she flapped the papers she held, “I can see your dedication. That could be to your benefit. With your permission,” she turned her head to the other couple, “I would like to teach not only our meditation and stamina exercises but some fundamental aspects of magick, which involves anything and everything considered ‘dark’ and ‘light’.”

“’Considered’?” asked Cynthia skeptically.

“Wait so, you want to teach our daughter good and evil magic?” asked William with worry.

The proprietress shortly giggled before turning back to Hermione. “Miss Granger, how does magic work?”

“Magic is done both from the innate ability of a person to produce it and their intent to use it,” Hermione answered promptly with a straightened back.

“Very well said. If we likened it to the non-magical world, what determines how a person is perceived? How do you know if a person is good or bad?”

“By…their actions?”

Mr. Lebedev interjected. “Not quite. What if I stole food from the market and I gave it to the starving children in the street. Am I evil?”

“…no.” came the slow reply. Hermione snapped her head up in realization. “No, you’re not. Your actions are illegal by law but your motives, your _intent_ is good.”

“Yes. And that is what I meant by your school’s reputation. It teaches, practices, and exalts the ‘light’ arts. In paper, it is ideal. But in real life? It will be a disadvantage.

How can you identify if you are the victim of dark magic if you are not educated enough to know of them? _Defense against the Dark Arts_ is good for protection – as a reaction. But what if you need to be proactive? To plan ahead? To _get ahead_?”

The fair-haired wizard’s voice grew dark at his last words, with an echo that reverberated all throughout the room. A dark shadow suddenly fell around them, slowly engulfing everything except their bodies with suffocating darkness.

Hermione furrowed her brow, concentrating on her magic, recognizing immediately he was testing her.

It…didn’t feel dangerous, this aura. Not at all. It just feels...disconcerting. It's impressively subtle casting – no wand, no gesture, no words. 

It’s marvelously terrifying, his skill level. She felt utterly humbled, feeling her young age in comparison.

Looking over at her parents made it even more apparent that it was safe. Hermione felt like she’s watching them through the telly – they paid the darkness no mind at all, continuing to work on finishing their cupcakes, polite but still relaxed. It’s as if they’re living in a different time, in a different place.

She looked back at Mr. Lebedev, who was taking a long sip of his tea, and studying her reaction in detached interest. Moments later, he seemed to decide.

“If you still wish to be under my wife’s wing, depending on your progress and resolve, I may also offer to impart with you some of what I know.

As a comparison, in my former school, we are more flexible and open in all forms of the magical arts, mostly due to necessity. But diverse cultural practices, or socio-economic changes in politics is a factor.

For Miya’s, they are more grounded in long-held discipline and tradition. They value the natural and spiritual world.

We can see you’re potential, Miss Granger. It would be an honor to see you grow… _if_ you have what it takes,” Mr. Lebedev finished with a nod while putting an arm around his wife.

All the Grangers processed this quietly while looking at each other in amazement.

Hermione blushed brightly with a wide grin, comprehending quickly that the prospect of being tutored by not just one, but two intelligent, and likely powerful, individuals is such an extraordinary opportunity. Wandless magic itself is already difficult to perform and people that do it risk volatile results if not done properly. And they executed it like it was nothing!

Knowing also that they were educated in two other schools of magic, it could provide a gateway to so many possibilities that she never thought of before for herself.

Huh. Maybe she should start using the word ‘never’ less in her daily vocabulary from now on.

She looked up at her parents, rubbing her wrist lightly but with determination set in her eyes.

When they smiled at her with pride and turned to the Lebedevs to relay their consent, she felt more hope than ever before.

I’m better. I _will_ be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: It's shorter than I expected but I think it ended the way I wanted. The next chapters will focus on the next summer of our sweet wonder boy (yes, I'm calling him that.) I wanted to see where these kids will take us as we see their growth through the summers until the year 1994. (Added a scene during the conversation between the adults and Hermione. I thought to expand on their personality more~)
> 
> EDIT 10/11/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> Dobroye utro (доброе утро) - 'good morning' in Russian
> 
> "An ornamental, hand-hammered brass container was in the center of the tray, with a stout teapot curiously on top of it." - I was describing a Samovar (самовар) - 'self-brewer'. It's widely used in East, Southeast, and Central Europe, as well as some parts of India, and the Middle East.
> 
> For Mr. Lebedev, I imagined him as almost 2M (about 6'5" or so) and Mrs. Lebedeva as maybe 1.6M (about 5'3" or so)
> 
> 'fluffy blue-grey dove with bright ringed eyes' - I was describing a Diamond Dove, another fancy pigeon breed.
> 
> Ne, koi? (恋) - 'Right, love?' in Japanese. 'Ne' is more of a filler word actually, but its used in this case as part of a question. Koi is short for Koibito (恋人), which means 'Lover'. Its like 'dear', 'darling', and the like but you can only use this for your special someone. It can't be used to describe anyone you're not close to because it might make you seem rude or a letcher.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	4. Krumov Summer 1992: The Decision

_Nebet Tepe, Old Town, Plovdiv_

“We should have known you’d be here, Vinko,” a soft utterance.

“Yeah! You can’t ditch us like that,” a brazen call.

A sharp smack was heard before the first voice continued. “We heard about the news. Want to talk about it?”

“Viktor. We. Had. A plan.,” a single clap punctuated each word, “You stay in one place and brood – attracting the girls. Then, when you shoot them down or you are just a general disappointment, I’ll swoop in and sweep them off their feet...!”

“ _Vse edno_ , Gosho. Quit thinking with the head in your pants instead of the one on your shoulders. Vinko would never – ”

“Mimi, Viktor and I are very healthy men – “

“ – sixteen year old _boys_ – ”

“ – so we can’t waste our youth for nothing! Especially now he’s making a name for himself…or about to, _ne_? And as the best friend – what reflects on him, reflects on me.

We must embrace our duty to all women when the world at large knows of us…!”

“Ha! You only wish that women stick to you like flies to honey, Georgi Petrov.”

“And if you aren’t as stubborn as a donkey on a bridge, you’d have better luck with the men, Mira Stoyanova.”

An exasperated sigh went unheard as the figure lounging on a high tree limb listened to the bickering below.

Viktor looked down at the golden ball he’s been playing with for the nth time, ruminating on his leftover summer assignments. Then his daily rounds at the conservatory – he’s been hearing about a squabble with the magical beings by the river. He also has his weekly music lessons that have yet to reach ‘perfection’ – as his dramatic tutor would put it. And if that wasn’t enough, he now has to add in strength and stamina training for his new occupation.

Or future occupation…if he so wishes it. He’ll definitely need a larger day planner to accommodate it nonetheless.

It all started when he and a few classmates planned a free-for-all Quidditch game a few weeks ago, celebrating the end of a grueling school year – and by that he did _not_ mean the examinations. Viktor was not ashamed to feel a dark sense of satisfaction even now from beating those fanatics during the fourth tiered Combat test. He would have challenged the older students who were part of the Circle as well, so great was his anger at that time, but good thing there were upperclassmen who felt the same righteous fury as he.

He shook his head, focusing on his current…situation.

He blames Georgi entirely.

During a break in the game, just to make things more interesting, some of the boys tweaked the enchantments on the Bludgers and added more menace in their hits when they get batted into players by the Beaters; they declared that Chasers can only use their dominate arms to control the Quaffle, and Keepers can only block using one leg.

For Viktor’s preferred position, despite his size, it was unanimously agreed – except the appointed Seekers themselves – that they will hunt the Snitch that’s released into the wizard’s side of the city neighboring the perimeter of their school. Whoever manages to come back with the little ball wins the game – no matter the score. Whatever time that might be.

No pressure. At _all_.

For one thing, ‘neighboring’ is a bit of a stretch when describing the many many _many_ leagues the distance was from point A to point B – wherever this might be as the Snitch can be absolutely anywhere in such a large radius.

Viktor will admit to the idiocy of such a scheme and would have protested if not for Georgi’s quiet words to him that was part taunt and part encouragement, feeding into Viktor’s strong sense of competitiveness and pride of the thought of bringing glory for his team – even if it’s just bragging rights.

It was not his proudest moment when he agreed right away – still on a high from his victory against the imbeciles who thought themselves impressive. _Neo-Acolytes_ of the ‘The New Circle’, they call themselves. _Tikvenik._ The lot of them.

He only thought at the last minute of the repercussions of their recklessness, as the combination of such a rowdy game and idiot boys would naturally end to. But as they say: you put your hood on after the rain. It is a good and a bad thing that wasn’t literal as the weather was a sunlit summer’s day; the only type of weather Viktor would be willing to fly in for several hours. The heat of the sun kept them warm despite the sharp wind that pelted their faces. He and the other Seeker had to push their brooms in order to get into the city and back out within the day.

Accidents occurred overall of course but only miss calls and non-fatal injuries. For Viktor though, it wasn’t quite an accident as it was a discovery that led to an opportunity. In fact, it might have been considered the best and worst thing that could ever happen to him.

He still blames Georgi.

When he and his classmate finally arrived around mid-afternoon in the mercifully uncrowded streets, they pragmatically went to get some food to-go, since they missed lunch entirely during their journey, and had extra in case they skip dinner on the way back.

And right at the perfect moment when their meal settled in their stomachs, a whirling buzz shot away next to their seated forms at the restaurant’s patio. Viktor immediately took off on his broom and zipped to the flash of gold, barely getting his goggles on properly. He passed by endless buildings, homes, and streets, disturbing some wayward witches and wizards doing their last minute shopping who were just fast enough to get out of his way.

Half an hour before sunset, Viktor finally caught the elusive Snitch that made him do a freefall from the clouds and straight down towards the ground at breakneck speeds. He stopped mere inches from the earth, a maneuver that could only be achieved with both his trusty Comet 260’s Braking Charm and his determined handling of it.

Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he righted himself smoothly, arm still outstretched up in triumph, letting the waning sunlight glint off of the little ball through his fingers. Everything was a blur around him as his focus was still on his catch until he heard someone calling his name.

“Förbaskat! _Viktor_ , _you’re insane! But at least you caught it. Good job. Can we go now? I’m getting hungry again_ ,” said his Swedish classmate jovially, his hand in a circling gesture over his stomach.

“ _Were you even trying to find it_?” asked Viktor with a flat look, sweat sliding down the sides of his face, with air-blown, matted hair still stuck in all directions. A familiar feeling of exasperation replaced his high.

The other’s smile turned sheepish. “ _Not really. Förlåt. In truth, I waited for you to get it. Your game face is ferocious, you know? But I bought us some snacks while watching you on the rooftops. Nice dive by the way_.”

“ _Honestly, you eat like a bear and work like a bug. Literally and figuratively. But thank you_.” 

“ _I don’t entirely understand what you’re saying but it’s going to be a colder journey back to the guys if you start your_ Bulgariska _ranting now.”_

“A? Ne. _No. It’s a saying and it means…never mind. I don’t know how to translate it better_.” Sometimes Viktor wonders why he has such crazy yet lazy friends. But it’s too late to get rid of them now, he muses with a small smile and a shake of his head. They may be lazy sometimes but they’re loyal to a fault. He won’t forget their ‘intervention’ at the dorm after they’ve also seen the marks on those students’ notebooks. As grateful as he is for their support, he still sent his mother advance warning to not entertain them at their home without him present, if they ever got into their heads to do a surprise visit. They might take advantage of her generosity. And their food. They’ll definitely run out of food.

“ _Let’s rehydrate at that place before we go_ ,” Viktor suggested, nodding at the small bistro ahead of them. He attempted to right his hair and wiped his face with a cleaning charm, his other hand held his broomstick up after his dismount. His classmate simply agreed.

After ordering a few glasses of water and some more snacks, the owner generously gave them a healthy portion of modified Peppering Up potions – that wouldn’t cause as much steam to come out of their ears as a regular one – for free for giving their quiet street a little entertainment for a change. They heartily gave their appreciation before they flew off.

A few days later, Viktor and his triumphant teammates floo-ed through the fire place of the quaint bistro. Apparently, one of them has gone there before and told them of the owner’s well-known generous nature in the community – a detriment to his business at a certain extent. He suggested they go there for their celebratory feast to give aid through their patronage.

By the end of the meal, they all agreed to add a little more in their tips and payment for both their waitress, who was the owner’s wife, and the owner, who both served their food with smiles on their faces despite the lunch rush. Conversation continued as the boys were enthusiastically comparing anecdotes on this-and-that that happened at school and reported on – not gossiped! – about some hijinks some second years did in the lake.

All things considered, Viktor did well keeping his composure in a crowd this time, even as the beginnings of a headache slowly seeped into his conscious. He focused on taking in one conversation at a time at their table, forcing the mental exercise to overcome his ailment.

He almost cracked though when a few flirtatious girls went up to them to socialize. He’s been practicing ‘managing’ his condition for some time now and he guessed it’s not yet enough since the sudden onslaught of loud emotions coming off of the girls had him internally reeling. It didn’t help that the corner of the restaurant they settled themselves in earlier made it easier for the girls to box them in. It was a small mercy that he took a window seat.

He blinked slowly, concentrating on taking quiet, deep breathes before he built up a feeble barrier around his mind, doing his best to remember the steps his father taught him. They both knew it will take Viktor a little longer to be a good Occlumens but it’s the only useful skill they can develop in him while he hasn’t found his _Custodia_ yet. He was aware enough to politely nod to the new people but kept his silence all throughout, letting his friends do the talking. He ignored any inquiries that might have gone his way by looking outside, people watching.

And there, across the street, he spotted someone waving at his general direction. He furrowed his brow before taking a discreet glance back at his seatmates. They all seem occupied with each other still. He inclined his head back at the stranger.

It took him a few seconds of studying the oddly familiar person’s built, face, and casual wear before his eyes widened in stunned comprehension and wonder: it was Captain Branimir Valkov of the Striking Snipes, the undefeatable Keeper; a local legend in his city.

His heart sped up but outwardly nonchalant, Viktor slowly straightened his spine. He watched as the retired captain made a small beckoning gesture before walking off into the direction Viktor vaguely remembered where he caught the Snitch.

He could see in his periphery that Georgi noticed his changed posture so he kept enthralling the ladies, trusting Viktor to tell him what caught his attention later. Viktor nodded his thanks before casually announcing he needs to stretch his legs before leaving the establishment in time to see the old Keeper waiting meters ahead, head inclined and a ready smile welcoming him forward.

Viktor knew to keep his guard up despite the cheery sunny day and moderate foot traffic. He would be a disgrace to the Institute if he didn’t. His father would definitely peel his hide off if he found out he was being careless. He somewhat forgave Viktor already for his ‘episode’ at school, sympathizing even. But anything else that might result in self-inflicted harm will not make his father happy. And if that happens, he’ll definitely tattle Viktor on _mamo_ , which will cause a chain reaction of coddling he is sure he has grown out of already.

Viktor is also sure he’s had enough of the Rakia and draught mix his mother uses as traditional remedy to pamper him into submission to last a life time. The last time he was sick for a week, he needed to bathe twice just to get rid of the smell on his skin, lest he’d be accused of being a drunkard at age nine.

He took his time now to ready his mind and made sure to keep his wand in easy reach before following the friendly looking wizard to where he stood.

“ _Dobar den_. I am Branimir Valkov, former Captain of the Striking Snipes. But you already know that, don’t you?” he asked rhetorically with a bow and a raised eyebrow.

“I am also from Plovdiv,” Viktor explained, maintaining eye contact while shaking hands with the older wizard after bowing back.

“Good. That makes things easier then.”

“ _Ee_?”

Mr. Valkov’s smiled widely and proceeded to change Viktor’s life around.

Coming back to the present, still hearing the squabbling duo below, Viktor despaired. He didn’t imagine being offered a place in a local Quidditch team, his favorite at that, through sheer dumb luck. He planned to work for it – when he was out of school and mentally ready – arrange some personal training, do try outs; show his talents through hard work. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel as if he cheated his way in.

How was he supposed to know that his stunt at a random country, at a random city, at a random street, in the middle of the day would catch the attention of a national player that mindlessly read a sports magazine on a bench, taking a vacation after being downtrodden over his injuries that made him permanently unable to play anymore?

Then again, Viktor’s school robes were fairly eye-catching. And the older wizard does deserve his downtime after many years of hard work. Viktor felt grateful that he was given an opportunity that is rarely bestowed upon anyone, especially to someone who is still a student.

Viktor smiled as he recollected the excitement on the retired player’s face; he offered to personally train Viktor before the try outs on the first week of July – for a place on the reserve team at least. The Quidditch season is from August to April and even if he qualified, he can’t play unless the matches are on the weekend. He wouldn’t want to jeopardize his studies even for this.

Another thing he’s considering is his exposure to bigger crowds once he’s become successful – he’s certain of this. He’s training to be a good player, if not the best – being trained by the best. He still had plans after he graduates that needs to be adjusted. If he played his cards right and he manages to go international…

He tapped gently on the little ball on his hand, activating its charm. Its wings unfolding gracefully before flitting up, hovering like a hummingbird near his head. He leaned his head back on the trunk of the tree, the argument below finally winding down as his friends turned their combined attention back to him.

The fact remains that Mr. Valkov, or should he say Trainer Valkov, has honored him greatly for this chance. What other way can he reciprocate that than to be the finest Quidditch player than he can be?

* * *

_Krumov Ancestral Estate, Acropolis of Plovdiv_

“ _Dushichka_ , is that you? Is Mira and Georgi with you?” a soft voice called near the receiving room as the trio carefully laid out their shoes in the foyer before greeting the older witch with hugs and kisses.

“Yes, _mamo_. They heard about my training.”

“Which you still haven’t told us details about. Rude,” said Georgi playfully.

“What are you, four?” Mira rebutted. “But I agree. We really want to know. How long has this been going on? Gosho only told me about you meeting _the_ Branimir Valkov and your stupid bet with the others that led to this meeting.”

Alexandra Krumova laughed, highly amused at the exchange, before informing the teens that she’ll have something prepared for them to nibble on for their conversation. She has an appointment with some Herbologists in an hour and she won’t be able to see them off later.

“Don’t worry, _mamo_ , I’ll take care of them. Unwind at the garden after your appointment. See you at dinner.”

Alexandra kissed her son’s cheek affectionately while smoothing out his hair, before gliding pass them to the long hallway. When she reached a mounted little picture frame, she instructed the painted figure to bring up some _Lukanka,_ _Sirene_ and iced peach juice to the receiving room. The waif of a girl in the picture did a curtsy before going to her other painting in the kitchen.

At times like this, Alexandra mused, she’s thankful Viktor has his friends.

The lady witch frowned delicately, brows down in worry while she kept her steady pace to their home’s apparition point. Alexandra knows once her son has decided on something, his pursuit is absolute, his will indomitable. Just like his decision to attend the Institute despite its current reputation, and a former student’s transgression against their family.

But to this, she felt proud. Viktor’s fearlessness is very much akin to her father-in-law’s, she wispily lamented. She bowed her head in respect and murmured a small prayer.

On the other hand, the madam does not see the wisdom of this… _endeavor_ yet, knowing her son will lose his privacy if his success causes him to become a celebrity. He will need to overcome this new hurdle. All she can do for now is have faith and support him the best she can.

And to this, Alexandra thought with a knowing smile, she’ll do what a mother does best.

“Well.” Mira said, staring at Viktor in amazement. “You’ll need a larger day planner.”

“That’s exactly what I told myself.”

The brunette frowned, fingers playing with a bit of the brined cheese she was pecking on. Viktor picked up on slivers of her uneasiness and assured her, “I’ll approach things one step at a time, Mimi. School and the conservatory are still my top priority.”

The frown turned into a scowl, although it was more resigned than angry, “I hate when you do that.”

“I’m sorry. You know I can’t help it.”

“For now, my friend. And this is exactly why we should stick with my original plan,” Georgi told them smugly, lounging in one of the settee and sipping from his goblet like a Hellenic lord.

Or a big fat cat with an overflowing milk bowl, Mira thought.

“How will _you_ playing as a ‘ladies’ man’ help me, Gosho?” Viktor raised his eyebrows while crossing his arms.

This should be good.

Georgi tutted while wagging his index finger at them. “‘Oh ye of little faith, ye petty fidians.’ You still underestimate my genius. We all know Viktor’s little problem. But it’s only a problem if we don’t make an effort – ”

“ – did you just call us atheists?” Viktor interrupted in a deadpan. Mira cackled.

“I did? I just read it somewhere. It sounded cool.

Ack! Never mind that. As I was _saying_. My plan is my way of putting forth an effort into solving your dilemma, Vinko. My plan may seem like it benefits me, but it benefits you the most. It will: a) Get you to master Occlumency faster and b) ‘widens your net’, so to speak.”

“I have been practicing my Occlumency,” Viktor said defensively.

“That’s not what it looked like at the restaurant.” Georgi disproved with raised brows.

“…go on.”

Georgi smiled magnanimously after popping a bit of meat and cheese in his mouth. “Look, this is my theory. Even if you practice all you want with Mira, or even your mother, or even your _baba_ – the long-term problem is: you’ll get used to them. You’ll get used to the sensation of their feelings whenever they interact with you; And like habit, you won’t notice it anymore. They’ll still be there but it might not register anymore that feeling those emotions will be alien.

Or think about our martial magic. Sure at first our sore muscles would hurt like we’ve been dancing in our funeral pyres during training but the longer we stick to our workouts and exercises, the better our bodies adapt to the strain and pressure. Before, a thirty minute lap around the fortress would leave us breathless. Doing it over and over again becomes a non-issue.

Although I do not appreciate how much of a slave-driver the professor is,” added Georgi with a shiver.

“So, you’re saying…if Viktor becomes more exposed to different girls and women, he’ll be pressured to improve his mental fortitude,” Mira summarized slowly with a contemplative mien.

“And when I make it to the international league, it may better my chances of finding my _Custodia_.” Viktor said in agreement. Being a better Occlumens and a famous player will be a bonus.

“ _Axa_! Confident, aren’t we?” Georgi waggled his eyebrows with a cheesy grin.

“If Valkov’s training and my performance take me that far, I will take it,” Viktor said with finality, determination reaching his eyes as he tightened his hand on the arm of his chair.

Mira and Georgi regarded him with smiling faces before reaching over to close their hands over his fist. “And we’ll be there to cheer you on, champ.”

“So will your mother and I.”

The teens all jolted up from their seats, turning to face the source of the new voice.

Viktor’s father leaned on the archway of the room. His face was a perfect mask of indifference but the twinkle in his eyes betrayed his mirth.

The boys bowed sharply while the only girl curtseyed with a small wobble, still unused to the gesture. She’d rather bow but her own _mamo_ would kill her for not showing proper respect to the Krumov patriarch.

Ivan Krumov cut a sharp figure as he straightened his stance and walked towards them – a quiet authority surrounding him. Viktor’s features reflect heavily his father’s but where his eyes are dark like his mother’s, Ivan’s are glacial blues. It can be especially unnerving when you’re on the wrong side of those eyes.

Viktor has yet to reach his father’s height and built, as Krumov men are known for compared to the average Plovdivian. He does not mind this though. He consoled himself that he’s fairly tall for his age himself, at least compared to Georgi and his yearmates – even though given his yearmates are from different parts of Europe.

He may consider developing his musculature later on though. That could be something he’ll have over his father, Viktor thought in amusement.

“I commend you two for being considerate and helpful to our Viktor.” Mr. Krumov said, grasping his son’s shoulder affectionately before turning to face them. “You honor us, but especially Viktor, with your friendship.”

Mira blushed while shyly dismissing the praise. Georgi though preened although with subdued energy – he’s heard rumors of the legendary Krumov temper, if Viktor’s own at school with the Grindelwald supporters was a small indication of it.

“What you all thought is what I have been anticipating the moment you told your mother and I of Trainer Valkov’s willingness to have you under his wing. It is a certainty that you will do great things, as you yourself determine it to be. We will be here for you son, with whatever you need.” Ivan smiled supportively, hand tightening on Viktor’s shoulder as emphasis.

And to this, Viktor thought, everything will be alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This was a fun chapter. I always wondered how Viktor came to be. I know he has friends so I don't exactly agree with some theories that say he doesn't have any, which is the only reason Hermione became the 'one who he'll miss the most'. Maybe there are other reasons why that is :3 (Edited some parts of this chapter to make the conversations flow better.)
> 
> And in case you got confused: Just imagine Viktor converses with his friends and family in Bulgarian, while switching to a common one with the Durmstrang students.
> 
> EDIT: 10/13/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> Ne - 'no' in Bulgarian
> 
> Vse edno (Все едно) - 'Whatever' in Bulgarian. Used when you're particularly annoyed.
> 
> "And if you aren’t as stubborn as a donkey on a bridge" - it's from the Bulgarian saying 'Запънал се като магаре на мост' (Zapŭnal se kato magare na most - He is as stubborn as a donkey on a bridge or He stumbled like a donkey on a bridge). Kinda self explanatory.
> 
> Neo-Acolytes (of the New Circle) - its what I call Durmstrang students that still admire Gellert Grindelwald. His organization was called 'The Alliance' while his inner circle call themselves his 'Acolytes'.
> 
> Tikvenik - 'pumpkin-head' in Bulgarian. Akin to calling someone an airhead
> 
> you put your hood on after the rain - from the Bulgarian saying След дъжд – качулка (Sled dŭzhd – kachulka - after rain - hood). Its Viktor's way of saying 'It's too late'.
> 
> Förbaskat - 'damn' in Swedish. Or something of that equivalent
> 
> Förlåt. - 'Sorry' in Swedish
> 
> you eat like a bear and work like a bug - from the Bulgarian saying Яде като мечка, работи като буболечка (Yade kato mechka, raboti kato bubolechka). Viktor's saying his classmate is lazy.
> 
> Even though it's a drink, Rakia, as it turns out, is used like the equivalent of using Tiger Balm or Vicks on Asian children by their mothers - the be-all end-all remedy for pretty much anything. You have a headache? Rub it on. You vomited? Rub it on. You have the flu? Rub it on your feet and put socks on. 
> 
> Dobar den(Добър ден) - 'Hello' in Bulgarian
> 
> Dushichka (Душичка) - it means 'duck' in Bulgarian. It's Viktor's mother's affectionate nickname for him
> 
> mamo (мамо) - 'mom' in Bulgarian. Short for maĭka (майка - mother)
> 
> baba (баба) - 'granny / grandma' in Bulgarian.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	5. Krumov Summer 1992: The History

_(Disillusioned) Sinanishko Lake, Pirin Mountains, Blagoevgrad Province_

“Captain? Captain! I can’t believe it. It’s good to see you again!”

The echo of the hollered words reached Viktor and his trainer as they walked onto the lush grass and over the stone slopes of Bulgaria’s National Quidditch Stadium.

The lack of the usual eerie mist that would encompass the pitch – which was meant to intimidate foreigners more than the locals – in the early morning made the old but robust structure look romantic and warm in the daylight; the poles on top of the spectator’s turrets waved the national flag merrily with the wind.

Viktor took in the sight in awe; from the ivy growing up the grey inclines and walls, to the goal posts that gleamed invitingly in gold. The grand bell tower at his far right was silent for once, considering it’s still the off season. He knew it would ring for every successful shot at the hoops, the booming bong adding to the crowd’s cheers or groans.

He never imagined he would see a sight like this outside of being a fan this soon; to be at the place he admired since childhood from the player’s point of view. He even envied the groundskeeper at one time for having the privilege to take care of the field for everyone’s delight.

But he shouldn’t get ahead of himself, Viktor thought, shaking his head and donned a more serious mien. He still needs to prove he’s cut out for the team before he can do a giddy tour of the area. He tensed up his legs where he stood behind Trainer Valkov to resist the urge to stroll. Instead, he turned his attention to the older wizard who laugh jovially while returning the earlier greeting.

“You’re forgetting yourself, Petar. I have made peace with my retirement and no longer hold that title –,”

Trainer Valkov then stopped to look around him in an exaggerated manner, making Viktor and the player look at him oddly. The former Snipe then took the latter by surprise as he wrapped an arm around the man’s neck, swift as a viper, and stage-whispered, “ – for, as you know, I happily accede it to you last year, you _zvyar_!” he finished while using a fist to give him, as the North American’s would say, a _noogie_.

The one called Petar blushed furiously, whether in embarrassment or anger, Viktor could not tell as the two started to wrestle in front of him.

The youngest of the three continued to stand still and suppressed his amusement from showing on his face, alert and wary in case any bouts that could stem from the rough housing might accidentally include him.

He has lived with boys in the school dorms to know enough that a stint between two notably hot-tempered people could be a messy and / or humorous affair. Even Mira and Georgi’s heated arguments through the years were lessons he learned the hard way when he mistakenly laughed out loud or tried to intervene, trying to keep the peace. Both cases made him regret being in the cross fire as the two would turn their glares at him and enact creative retribution.

When the younger but more muscular man was able to wriggle his way out of the older’s strangling hold – a Keeper has to have a good grip! – he leaped away comically, counterbalancing to a weighted stance with the help of his reflexes before he pivoted enough to catch a glimpse of Viktor’s leaner physique.

He raised an eyebrow, blue eyes probing at Trainer Valkov before verbalizing about the odd bystander in their midst.

“He’s not odd. He is here by design. I am endorsing who I think will mesh well with the team. After a little more group-oriented drills that is.”

“ _A_? _Tuiii_ … _He’s_ your replacement Keeper? He looks too young. And too skinny. Like a sapling,” said the team’s Beater, looking back at Viktor skeptically. “He doesn’t even look like he’s out of school yet.”

Viktor was a little miffed but tried not to voice it, still self – conscious of his ungainly long arms and legs that he knows he’ll grow into eventually. He is cognizant enough to know that this is the person in the team he should show professionalism at all times.

Thus, he decisively moved forward with shoulders back, spine straight, and bowed smartly to the current Captain of the Snipes. “I would like to try out for the reserve team, if you permit me the chance, Captain Vulchanov. Not as Keeper but as Seeker.”

The Captain narrowed eyes at him with a tilt of his head, rubbing a hand on his jaw in thought. “Yes…your built is better for that. You know of me of course but, who are you? How many summers are you now?”

Viktor pursed his lips briefly before answering, “Viktor Ivanov Krumov. Sixteen.”

“Son of Ivan Krumov you say? _I kakvo tolkova?_ You think you can just get in the team because of your heritage?” mocked the Captain, face suddenly filled with annoyance. He loomed over Viktor, poking his chest with a finger in emphasis.

“Petar!” shouted Trainer Valkov in exasperation.

“Listen up, _Chukundur._ You think a sixteen year old brat that has ties with the preserve is good enough for a professional team? I don’t know how you got to Branimir but – ”

“Petar Borislav Vulchanov, that’s enough, pup! And you weren’t listening to either of us. I thought I beat out the ear wax out from that thick skull of yours before I retired and named you my successor…!”

Viktor slowly slackened from his unconsciously defensive stance, uncrossing his arms before moving backwards for a step or so and remained quiet, choosing to butt out of the seemingly familiar argument between the men – if the facial expressions of the rest of the Snipes hovering over the field are any indication.

Viktor knew since childhood that his family name can evoke various feelings in the Bulgarian people, especially within his home city. He is proud of course of their clan’s longstanding mission of protecting the delicate magical and non-magical biodiversity within the country in recent centuries, but it is also known that long before that, one fierce ancestor helped include Plovdiv soil to the Bulgarian Empire and protected it’s advantageous geographic position from various foreign rule – protected all of Bulgaria essentially.

Many non-magical Bulgars and Slavs were not aware of Krum’s pureblood origins. He let them think he was a chieftain, a descendent of an old but _mugul_ Bulgar royal house, due to his intuitive military know-how and noble bearing. This deception was necessary – any citizen that was perceived to be a witch is executed without remorse.

But Krum loved his country despite the prejudice. He was wise and ambitious. After he learned from the best warriors and thinkers of the Turks, Mongols, and Slavs, he defeated their alliance, the _Avar Khaganate_. This started a series of events where he protected Bulgaria zealously numerous times and was a terror to his enemies that dared to disrupt the peace. His efforts bore fruit – he was eventually hailed by all to be Khan.

But after almost twenty years of strict but fair rule, Khan Krum named a non-magical but very able heir before quietly retiring in relative obscurity – at least to the _mugul_ world. He knew that as a public figure, he will be questioned in due course for not aging as fast as the ordinary citizen _,_ when life expectancy is already very low then compared to modern standards.

The former Khan’s quiet contemplations and introspections during his retirement brought about a change in the family line. His memoirs, that were passed down through the ages, led to their family’s redirected obligation from the Bulgarian people to the country’s rich and much sought-after flora and fauna. It is not quite certain if Viktor’s ancestor had the gift of the Inner Eye but this alteration is well-timed.

Succeeding foreign invasions had nearly destroyed the local habitat as much as the local people; deforestation, overhunting, and near-extinction of rare species. Since they are the only wizarding family that cared enough for the environment and its inhabitants and not just their own survival, it took the Krumovs generations before they made many locations inaccessible for human settlements, and trusting a handful of non-magicals to help them manage those areas.

This partiality towards _mugul_ people, and control of various sites created mixed feelings in pureblood society within the country. But they are largely respected nonetheless due to their old lineage.

Viktor woke from his woolgathering and noticed that some of the other Snipes had silently approached, on foot or on their brooms, ignoring the loud arguing next to them and exchanged polite greetings. They inquired how he met their former Captain, if he indeed was still studying, and what position is he trying out for.

Viktor recounted, with a bit of discomfiture, an abridged version of the event that he and his friends have long called “The Dive Incident” and the succeeding meeting with Trainer Valkov in the street. Yes, he just finished his fourth year. He then repeated what he told Captain Vulchanov.

He added he’s aware he may not be able to attend all matches since there are several scheduling conflicts at this point in his life that he still needs to smooth over with his school and family. But he would still like to try out – mainly due to Trainer Valkov’s trust in him.

He also wants to find out his potential, if given the chance, he explained.

Feeling impressed, one of the Chasers summoned the chest of Quidditch equipment with a flick of her wand and offered to assess him. Another Chaser flew up to the bell tower and transfigured his wand into a heavy looking mallet, swinging it wildly into the biggest bell, activating it with magic in the process.

The moment the Snitch and Bludgers were released, Viktor’s gaze automatically zeroed in on the glint of gold. Without looking away, he enlarged his shrunken broom – that had been in his fist since he left his home – mounted it, and flew off. The other players followed with keen interest.

Like last time, his sense of time and space went irrelevant; everything but the golden ball, a haze. He flew up high, like any Seeker would, and kept following the Snitch’s progress with single-mindedness. The rest of the Snipes started a mock play, keeping at least one eye on him and his progress.

Viktor nearly forgot about the team’s resident Seeker until she took off without hesitation, closing in on the flighty object while Viktor was still busy plotting the closest flight path to little ball.

The Snipe’s main Seeker stopped a hairsbreadth away from it before she turned to Viktor with a raised eyebrow. He was so gob smacked from the quick maneuver that he hadn’t had time to properly panic yet. The Snipe player chuckled, “Good. You’re finally awake. Thought I might make you understand that games can be won easily within the first five minutes.”

She glided over to his position near one of the turrets and continued patiently. “It’s good you kept track of it since its release but it is not a wise thing to do and it shows your neglect for teamwork. You will forget to assist the Chasers in scoring goals, and forget to dodge the Bludgers coming your way. It will make you forget that these games are not just for your enjoyment but for the crowd’s own as well.

Your sponsors won’t like it either if things end too soon before a good show gets going.”

Viktor listened in rapt attention, absorbing and percolating the information in his head. Now that it’s brought to his attention, he did enjoy watching the games because of the suspense of not knowing who will win; the drama of sustaining injuries and whether or not the players will fight through it or let themselves be taken to oblivion; and the jubilation at the end of the game by either the great timing of the Seeker or the Chasers’ efforts of scoring high enough to not make that matter.

The Seeker smiled as Viktor bowed his head to her and voiced his understanding. He asked if he could try again. She consented and pulled back to give him space.

When the female player flew away, Viktor took a discreet breath while turning towards the pitch in thought. He can see what Georgi is talking about now. He knew that there were women currently in the main and reserve roster of the Snipes and readied himself accordingly. But he miscalculated when he focused entirely on the Snitch and he admits he let his guard down enough for his shields to discharge.

At least all he felt from the female player was curiosity and sincere compassion, the last one he highly appreciated and took to heart as a morale boost. Sometimes, he needs reminding that there are many good people in the world like her; and his parents, his best friends and even Trainer Valkov. The teachings at Durmstrang make him feel like too much of a jaded warrior and he hasn’t even reached his majority yet.

Viktor eventually tucked these thoughts aside to be reflected on another time.

“Are they always like this?” he questioned as he effortlessly darted away from an oncoming Bludger from his left before he engaged a conversation with the Beater that batted it at him. He can’t believe the two Captains were still arguing!

“Like a married couple, aren’t they? That’s normal. It did escalate when Branimir’s retirement was announced but it died down pretty quickly once we were finally briefed on the extent of his injury.”

Viktor, deciding to apply his learnt knowledge, helped steal the Quaffle for the side that isn’t the main Seeker’s nor the Beater’s – which he deduced during his chats – before passing it to a reserve Chaser, his assumed groupmate. He gave Viktor a quick salute before soaring away. The Beater from earlier sidled up next to him and clapped a hand down on his shoulder.

“You’re getting it now. Let’s see if you can keep that up.”

An hour into the mock game, the Captains on the ground finally lost steam enough to notice what’s going on around them.

Branimir gloated, seeing Viktor’s labored determination in keeping pace with the game. He cheered when Viktor did a feint and almost made their resident Seeker chase after nothing.

Petar on the other hand was silent, studiously tracking Viktor. He raised his eyebrows when the younger man managed to position himself in such a way that any Bludger that was aimed at him will hit an opposing player.

Smart. He’s starting to see what the kid is all about, Vulchanov mused.

After two more hours under the scorching summer sun, the match ended with Viktor holding up the Snitch, recreating his “Dive”, stopping a foot or so away from the ground. The bell tower tolled to announce his team’s victory.

“That’s it! That’s why I wanted him in the team. He’s brave, Petar, and clever. If we develop that talent, our team may…no – our team _will_ qualify into the European Championship someday.”

“ _Hmp_. You’re that confident in him?”

“I was confident in you, and look where you are now.”

They both turned back to Viktor in time to see him being dog piled by his enthusiastic team mates, the Chaser from earlier went up to them and yelled her approval with two thumbs up.

* * *

_Residential Area, Krumov Ancestral Estate, Acropolis of Plovdiv_

“ _Mamo_ , I’m home.”

Alexandra looked up from her reading to the tired call of her son. He walked pass the living room, looking disheveled and even more uncoordinated than usual. Her heeled feet tapped the floor with rhythmic clicks as she rapidly went towards his slouched figure. She drew her head back almost instinctively though when she caught a whiff of his sweat.

“ _Dushichka_ , why did you not take a shower? I thought they had those working again at the stadium after the freezing crystals accident,” she tutted while guiding him to his room. “You look as if you were rolling with the bears in the forest.”

“…I forgot to bring extra clothes.” He explained with a tint of color on his face. “…and you’re not that far off. I was exhausted after the tryouts and fell to the nearest grassy areas of the peaks. I didn’t look this bad but Trainer Valkov insisted on apparating me. Since he hasn’t been here yet, I gave him direction to the entrance of the Acropolis. I walked the rest of the way here.”

Alexandra sounded out a sympathetic hum and gingerly patted his back. “So? How was it?”

A smile bloomed bright on her son’s face. “I think it went well. We just need to arrange my schedule for training and possible weekend matchups before I sign a contract.”

Alexandra squealed and hugged her dear boy tight, forgetting her earlier hesitance entirely. He snorted and returned the embrace, most likely feeling a load of her bright mood if the pleased smile on his face is any indication.

“You do our family proud, _sin_. We need a feast for lunch, even if it’s a little late. Or maybe we can do an early dinner? But you definitely need to eat some _tarator_ to freshen you up. Want me to send you a decanter of mineral water? We need lamb _kyufteta_ to celebrate. What kind of _kebapche_ would you like? What about _Lozovi Sarmi_? I know it’s your favorite. A fresh batch of _Kiselo Mlyako_ arrived today it’ll be perfect! Would you like _boza_ or _rakia_? I’ll allow you one goblet – ”

“ – _mamo_ , _mamo_ , everything sounds good. Have anything prepared, whatever you think is best. I just really want to take a shower now. Water sounds great.” Viktor said with affectionate exasperation before giving his mother another small squeeze before dragging himself straight to his en-suite bathroom.

Clapping her hands in joy, Alexandra dashed away, swerving towards the little painting again on the hallway wall and rapidly enumerated the meals to be prepared for dinner. “And tell Bilyana I’ll be at the kitchens in a few minutes to start the _sarmi_ myself. Thank you, Ana!”

Once the figure curtseyed hastily with a beam and disappeared off frame, Alexandra raced her way to the master suites, stopping at the room’s fireside and sprinkling what looks to be like iridescent sand into the fire. When the flames turned blue, she took a few breathes to calm her heart before simply calling out “Ivan Krumov”.

“…”

“Ivan? Are you busy?”

_“…asha…o..all…”_

Alexandra sighed before taking a seat on a nearly chaise.

“Come closer to the fireplace, Vanko. I can barely hear you. I have great news!”

A few more silent flickers of the dancing flames had her tapping her fingernails impatiently on the back of the chaise before a deeper voice boomed out of them.

“Forgive me, _lyubove_. I just arrived from a meeting with the Ministry. They were giving me a headache on the boundary lines at the Pirins again. Did Viktor make the cut?”

“Seems so! He says he will sign after an arrangement on his time is agreed on.”

“ _A_ , good, good. And I have a feeling you are preparing a celebratory meal for an army as we speak?”

“Not quite. We haven’t invited his friends yet. Little Gosho alone can out-eat our Viktor easily.”

A short chortle sounded from the fireside. “I will be with you in an hour. I just need to review some missives from the Strandzha Park. Apparently the Velekan veela are discontent with some of the visitors that venture too far into their river.”

“They’re always discontent, Vanko. They never liked human beings.

And make sure that is _only_ one hour. The last time you said something similar, you were home at midnight!”

“But that was when – “

“Yes, yes. The Kamchia Reserve caught on fire. Which I still think is ironic since it’s near the Black Sea and has many rivers.

Come. Home. On time. This is Viktor’s moment.”

“Yes, madam.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: At the time I was writing this, I watched a video called "The dangers of a single story". Which said exactly what I was aiming for with Viktor's back story. I was skeptical when Ron stated something along the lines of Viktor being a total genius in the air. I'm sure he has talent but he definitely had to work to get to the level of competing internationally, like any serious athlete had.
> 
> EDIT 10/13/2020: Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> zvyar (звяр) - 'beast' in Bulgarian. Captain Vulchanov is a Beater so...it fits.
> 
> I kakvo tolkova? (И какво толкова) - 'so what' in Bulgarian. Clearly he's not impressed with Viktor.
> 
> Chukundur (Чукундур) - 'beetroot' in Bulgarian. You can say its the equivalent of calling someone a 'douchebag'. Someone who isn't mindful of other people, or if they inconvenienced them.
> 
> mugul (Мъгъл) - actual Bulgarian book translation of 'muggle'.
> 
> ~ o ~ History of Plovdiv and Bulgaria mixed with magic ~ o ~
> 
> mamo (мамо) - 'mom' in Bulgarian
> 
> sin (синко) - 'son' in Bulgarian 
> 
> tarator (таратор) - A Bulgarian yogurt-based soup of cucumbers, garlic, dill and sometimes walnuts (and even ice cubes)
> 
> kyufteta (кюфтета) - every Bulgarian household has their own meatball recipe. Anyone would say their mother's is the best.
> 
> kebapche (кебапче) - an elongated piece of grilled minced meat, shaped like a hotdog. It's usually a mix of pork and beef.
> 
> Lozovi Sarmi (лозови сарми) - stuffed grapevine leave dish, that typically is filled with rice, and minced meat. Onions and carrots as well as various spices are typically added to the filling.
> 
> Kiselo Mlyako (Кисело Мляко) - a mild sour-tasting yogurt. Or also known as sour milk. Bulgarian yogurt considered one of the best types out there.
> 
> boza (боза) - It is a malt drink made by fermenting wheat or millet.
> 
> Rakia (ракия) - its brandy that is made from fermented grapes, plums, or virtually any fruit with sugars in it. Its alcohol content varies from 40% for the commercially sold liquor to 70-80% of pure firewater for the home-produced ones.
> 
> lyubove (любове) - 'love' in Bulgarian
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	6. Granger Summer 1992: The Reference

_Deep Roots Studio, Flask Walk, Hampstead, London (4 th Session)_

“This will be our last week together, dear. Do you need me to charm anything else?”

Ever since Hermione got wind of Harry’s relations nearly burning her first letter – the sadness and apology evident in his reply – it took her a bit to control her irritation, thoughts churning rapidly with particular _colour_ in retaliation on her best friend’s behalf.

Rather harmless, non-threatening imaginings anyway. She doesn’t want the Dursleys to suffer, per se, but just be a trifled bit inconvenienced. The twins might find it boring and absolutely ‘muggle’ but Hermione believes not everything should be done heavy-handedly. Maybe some sneezing powder here, non-food flavoured beans there, or a few rattles and shakes everywhere. Just minor things that’ll cheer Harry up…

…but might amp up the Dursleys’ paranoia.

On second thought, maybe that’s not such a good idea. They’d definitely blame Harry for everything, like they’ve always done when something even slightly unusual happens in their home.

Then again, Harry might still think it’s worth it. He’ll encourage her even and be a co-conspirator. She doesn’t want to know what’ll happen when Ronald gets involved. And where there’s mischief, the twins will definitely hear of it and get in on the action.

Decisions…decisions…

Eventually, she brushed the thoughts aside. Thinking it over, her mother would certainly have words with her, seeing as Hermione just had her own encounter with vile magic, albeit, indirectly, so she shouldn’t do unto others what she doesn’t want done to her, her mother would scold gently, wagging a stern finger.

_…what you send out…comes back…_

_…what you sow…you reap…_

_…what you give…you get…_

It doesn’t help her inner conscious started to sound more and more like Mrs. Lebedeva, with each passing lesson on inner peace and the concept of _karma_.

And expulsion is absolutely _not_ an option. Not at all. And _not_ worth the risk for a little prank. Although that might seem like an extreme – since she’s still studying up the laws of the Ministry of Magic – it has happened to muggle schools before. Better be on the safe side. For now.

Still thinking over her new conundrum, Hermione marched to the well-kept shelving that housed their family’s modest collection of books, with careful fingers gliding over their spines, mind sharpening for a solution while feeling an undercurrent of fond sentiment.

She’s grateful her parents never really thought twice about letting her skim through any of the reading materials in their library; nothing was explicitly restricted, as far as she knew. Even as her younger and tiny form grew coordinated enough to hold onto the rolling ladder while browsing, they never really told her ‘no’. They just kept an eye out in case of a fall.

But she’s realizing the downside to her parents’ sometimes permissive style was the brand of… _creativity_ she’s developed over the years, thinking they might be useful someday – in case of an emergency, or upon threat of force. Whichever comes first.

The horror and mystery section was easy enough to reach – quite a quirky part of her mother’s collection, if she really thought about it. Must be why the woman is so fond of scheming and exploring hidden places – as unfitting as it may seem on such a bubbly personality – and add to that her extraordinary intuition, you’d get either a very thoughtful gesture of care, or an act of particular deviousness, which almost always is at the expense of her ever patient dad.

That said, Hermione didn’t want to add to his long-suffering, even when he’s such a good sport about it.

Her hand paused over one familiar volume. It’s about eight a half inches tall, with a rich, marbled background, and an enchanting scene of a mermaid lounging in a patch of reef, blonde hair floating ethereally in the water on the cover.

_The Complete Illustrated Stories of Hans Christian Andersen…_

Holding on to its dust jacket, she slowly pulled it out, reminiscing on the times when she’d turn to the beautiful pictures within to transport herself to places she’d only dream of, to think of other things than the burden of her intellect; how different she was from her peers. How, strange things keep happening around her when emotions run high, making any playmate wary of approaching her – of approaching the wildly bushy-haired girl with abnormally large front teeth on a pudgy face, and too sharp eyes that see everything.

_Mousy ‘Mione_ , they’d call her, back when she was particularly shy. _Beaver Jeaner,_ they’d jeer, at their most cruel, behind her back. The memory of cold, stale, pond water running through her hair, mixed in with the putrid green of the algae still makes her shiver involuntarily to this day.

She took a deep, meditative breathe before opening up to a well-marked place, caressing the page fondly: _The Snow Queen_ , a tale on the struggles between good and evil, as experienced by two children.

Children who miraculously survived extraordinary events through the seasons with help from other beings…

… _see you grow…if you have what it takes…_

Other…beings…

Hermione groaned, smacking herself on the forehead. Get help. She could get help. _Of_ _course!_ How could she forget she has a new teacher now; a teacher who volunteered to help her. Her _own_ _mentor_ , she emphasized, a little giddily, to herself, squeezing her book to her chest.

Armed now with a plan – at the end of their second session, with Mrs. Lebedeva guiding her for cool down stretches – Hermione haltingly recounted, in between positions, some of her side ventures at school, how she came about making friends at the most unlikely place – in an unconventional way – and how essential it is that she sends mail this summer because of that friendship.

Straightening up, Mrs. Lebedeva simply turned and faced her, holding out her hands, and gesturing for her neat stack of blank envelopes nearby. Hermione gave them without question, watching as the older witch drew them near her mouth and enunciated in a soft but clear voice, “ _Protego_ _Exosculatio”_.

Hermione raised her brow in surprise. It’s odd her Teacher bothered to use Latin at all, being married to a Russian wizard, who probably used Slavic words to convey magic – that book on the ‘top most spoken languages in the world’ was a fascinating read – and the fact that the Asian-looking woman has a rather neutral accent herself suggests she has a native language of her own. Even as flawless as Mr. Lebedev’s English was, he still has a perfunctory way of speaking it. Not in a rude manner but just…concise? Practical?

Hopefully, she’ll get to find out soon. Being able to perform wandless and wordless magic is such a massively superior skillset –

Hermione will never feel powerless again.

On that note, she absolutely can’t wait until she’s qualified to be taught by Mr. Lebedev, Hermione thought, feeling a tinge of warmth on her cheeks and up her neck.

She shook her head, managing to resist slapping her cheeks. She can’t get ahead of herself. Mrs. Lebedeva offered first, and kindly so. She needs to focus on the present, and be the best at present. She nodded decisively.

Hermione’s thoughts were cut short as pink and white wisps of light twinkled at the corner of her eye. She looked up just in time to see a shimmer of an illusion over her letters before it dissolved quickly into the plain paper. Seeming to have ignored her absentmindedness, Teacher Lebedeva gave them back with a small smile, eyes alight with humor. “There. Your messages will seem like they are just part of the house billings. Let’s hope your friend pays enough attention to tell the difference,” she noted with a quick wink.

Blinking from the memory, Hermione replied, looking up at her teacher with a shake of her head. “No. It’s alright, Mrs. Lebedeva. I’ll be seeing him at Diagon Alley. But I’ll practice the charm at school. I almost used my wand again at home.”

Hermione watched, with her head tilted almost parallel to the ground, as her teacher smoothly contorted her body like a pretzel. The older witch still faced her but her head was upside down. Hermione learned this stance, aptly enough, is called a Pigeon Pose, which stretches muscles in the hips, and bottom, while internally aids in one’s digestion.

Personally, Hermione’s not sure if she could be comfortable doing something like that in her lifetime.

“It’s alright. Using a wand has become a reflex. This summer is just the beginning. By the time we advance your routines in the coming years, you will be as comfortable without wands as you are with them.”

“…I thought I’d get the hang of it within weeks, maybe months. Not years.” Hermione complained lowly, but dejectedly. The fancy dove cradled in her arms cooed at her softly, snuggling against her chest in comfort, with its tail feathers fanned out over her right arm and brown neck feathers puffed up more to tickle her left.

Her teacher regarded her with a kind expression. “Your education revolves around the use of wands almost exclusively when handling magic. Even if you grew up within a magical household, you will still see parents or relatives using wands whenever and wherever.

You are not slow, dear, as you might be thinking now. In fact, the wand is an entirely European invention. Not everyone in the world needs to use one.”

Hermione widened her eyes, never having read about _that_.

Mrs. Lebedeva chuckled before moving her body back to the Lotus position with an elegant twist. Hermione placed down Yuuya on the floor with a careful bounce – the pitter patter of tiny talons drifting away at the sight of seeds – before scrambling for her notepad and pen, recognizing her Teacher’s ‘lecture pose’.

Mrs. Lebedeva began, melodious voice drifting towards Hermione’s attentive figure in pleasant tones.

“Magic is older than any being, any society, or any civilization. Some cultures believe it is life itself, and that we are part of it. Be that as it may, if we are beings made up of this fantastical phenomenon, why then do some manifest it, but others could not? Why is there such a difference in so-called _purebloods_ and, I think you call them, squibs? This is what we’ll study in the coming years.

Now, according to _scientific_ studies, Africa is considered the cradle of human kind. The non-magicals that hypothesized this have unknowingly paralleled what mystical theorists have always thought of the continent: the source of all magic. The earliest known records of casted magic was in Egypt, thousands of years ago, back when magicians were revered. They had the ability to relieve sickness and foretell if crops will flourish; advising their pharaoh during hard times. And no. Unlike the ones on stage, _magician_ is a dated term for wizards and witches. It’s actually entertaining to think its current meaning is a hot debate in the magi-scholastic community at large.

Moving forward, these ‘records’ are not always reliable because of the lack of abundant writing material – Ah yes, question?”

“I think I’ve watched a documentary about the pyramids,” interjected Hermione politely, lowering her arm. “Archaeologists found carvings on stone walls or tablets – the normal mode of written communication. They could be as important as a kingdom decree or as ordinary as a shopping list…?”

“Exactly. Can you imagine carrying around large flat stones, trying to hammer pictures of what I’m saying now?” Mrs. Lebedeva joked with raised brows.

They both looked down at her notepad and pen. Hermione held them up as if they were larger and heavier; miming her pen like it’s a chisel, trying to scratch out something on her ‘stone’. They both gave a good laugh.

“Isn’t there the pap…papie…pa-py-rus? Weren’t the Egyptians the first ones to use it? The pyramids and other dig sites have loads of those, at least from what the telly said. Although they did look very delicate.”

“Indeed, and there is a reason for that, not just because of age. Papyrus isn’t exactly a dependable material if you want your written thoughts to last for more than a lifetime.

Papyrus is made out of natural material, from one part of a specific plant. They were abundant around the largest river delta, so they were very accessible. But anything natural can decompose, like fruit peels or dead leaves. It has been processed and shaped by man of course but it isn’t as sturdy as man-made materials like plastic or, say, metal. And I think they call these things bio-degrad-able, correct? So, this particular material, according to an associate in Cairo, will last for years in the arid climate of the desert. But once you store it within a damp environment, it will develop molds, and eventually disintegrate.

It’s not until the invention of parchment as we know it and another called _vellum_ , that man could write down plans, journals, journeys, memoirs, lessons, and the like. And no, unfortunately the old magicians have not bothered to discover a way to preserve their written work. They feared their secrets and possessions would be shared amongst the masses.

As revered as they were during that period, they were still public figures. Basically, like celebrities. Any item that could be swiped from them could be sold at lucrative prices.”

-{-}-

Miya paused, giving her new pupil time to finish writing, the sound of frantic scribbling making her smile.

She watched as Hermione scrunched her eyebrows delicately, crossed out some words, paused, and then wrote more enthusiastically, no doubt adding in her own thoughts. She appreciated the studiousness of one so young; that she would pay such serious attention to detail.

Miya can only count in one hand the number of people that has this much sincere love for learning in her lifetime.

Her husband did not lie when he said Hermione has potential. If her parents are amenable, she would like to bring her to a reserve in the Balkans to further her studies in the natural world in a year or two. She may need to arrange a few things with an associate there to make it happen. Her student is still rather young.

When she had Hermione’s attention again, Miya continued. “Consequently, the most reliable method of passing down instructions is through spoken word. Magicians did not use wands or staffs, as old paintings would imply. They prayed, they chanted, they blessed, and they brewed potions and elixirs. They execute their gift, which they associate with certain deities – by gestures and spells – which then are passed down from one apprentice to the next through storytelling.”

It took Miya a few seconds to notice Hermione rubbing her left wrist. Her young face showing unusual distaste.

“Ms. Granger? Am I going too fast?”

The young witch look startled from her contemplation before her face turned a rosy hue. “I’m sorry, Teacher. It won’t happen again.”

Miya frowned, worried. “It was not my intent to scold you, little one. I wanted to know what’s wrong.”

Hermione seem to reflexively hide her arm behind her back before her mind caught up to her. Her shoulders slump down, head tilted down in embarrassment.

Miya cleared her expression, looking at her student for a few more moments before moving her torso forward and offering her hands up patiently to the distressed girl. There was silence for a long time before Hermione hesitantly placed her smaller hands over hers.

“Ms. Granger. Hermione. Dear one. I may not be the right person, and we’ve only interacted for only a fair few times but let me still say this:

I am _here_ for you.

I am your teacher. I am your guide. I am your support.

Remember your parents’ love. Remember the new friendship that has saved your life.

No matter how much the world has turned on its head, there are constants in life that are worth fighting for. That are worth _remembering_ ,” Miya finished with a gentle squeeze. Her eyes narrowed slightly before she spoke again, voice changing into a soothing, low manner. The aim: to calm.

“Follow my instructions. _Listen to my voice._

Breathe in through your mouth. Taste the sun’s rays, _let it warm you…_

Take in the details of Yuuya’s feathers. How they glisten in the light and darken in the shade. _Let it take hold…_

Take in the smell of parchment, the tomes, and the incense. Take in the smell of my perfume. Take in the smell of your hair. _Let it surround you…_

Take in the sound of my voice, how I modulate it – low and high. Take in the gentle strum of the _shamisen_ in the music. Take in the sound of the rustling leaves in the trees and bushes. _Let them sweep you away to a better place…_

Take in the texture of my hands and how they differ from yours. Take in how rough they are, from years of hard work. _Let yourself feel…let yourself fall…_

Take it all in…and breathe out…

Slow…and steady.

_Slow… and steady_.”

-{-}-

Hermione instinctually closed her eyes as Mrs. Lebedeva spoke, the mix of English and the lilting tones of a foreign language unwinding the tense muscles of her back and shoulders; the larger but petite hands cradling hers had her reeling gently back from her inner pit, the morose thoughts that she tried to keep at bay.

By the end of the third loop of the mantra, she squeezed back Mrs. Lebedeva’s hands and gradually let go, straightening up with one final breathe out and opened her eyes.

She was met with a serene smile and Yuuya’s insistent cooing, hopping over to her and tilting his head to eye her better in concern. She smiled widely and couldn’t resist petting him under his beak and over his head feathers.

Mrs. Lebedeva tilted her head, observing her calmer demeanor. “I said something that reminded you of a dark place,” she stated.

Hermione pursed her lips briefly and shrugged. “Something like that. I couldn’t help remembering back when my magic… didn’t always feel like a gift.”

Mrs. Lebedeva’s expression cleared immediately, voice gentled. “ _Naruhodo_. Maltreatment of witches and wizards has been prevalent in many cultures for many a millennia. What is not understood by man is something to be feared – hence the persecutions. I’m sure you’ve heard of the witch trials in your country, yes? Thus was the great need to keep hidden – separate, yet close, to the ‘normal’ world.”

“I read about it, yes. But…if that was the case,” Hermione started, looking up in a shy but ever curious manner. “How come you and Mr. Lebedev adapted so well with the mugg – I mean non-magicals?” Hermione corrected, remembering the Lebedevs’ avoidance of using the term for some reason. She took up her notepad and pen again, which fell during her episode.

“Oh! We were brought up with very accepting societies. Most parts of Asia have rather laidback views when it comes to the presence of magic. It’s closely associated to spiritual enlightenment. Our philosophers and spiritual leaders focus their energies on either self-discovery or familial unity. But, there are those that are quite traditional about it and are rather rigid in their rituals. It’s honestly tiring honestly.

Russia on the other hand, is at ease with magical and non-magical interactions, especially after the end of their monarchy. There were a few centuries of killings though due to a shift of the country’s religions. But like I said, persecution of the unknown is a common… ‘practice’.

_Koldovstvoretz_ …or was it _Koldovsdvoretz?_ – Pardon me. I keep forgetting. My mouth gets tongue tied with the name – the largest magical institute of Russia, accepts pureblood, half-blood and non-magicals without discrimination. They even have subjects and extra-curricular activities that include the arts, and dances, sciences, and – “

“ – Sciences?!” Hermione is starting to wonder when she’ll stop getting surprised.

She hopes not.

Mrs. Lebedeva giggled. “Yes. _Sciences._ Astronomy is basically the same discipline. Potion-making is not unlike cooking or beverage mixing.

Oh but the Inventions class is a popular subject! It is useful, my husband says. That may have led to his interest in innovation – he claims he’s the best in school. No one has beaten his record for pulling apart things and putting them back together again, he says. I haven’t seen anything to the contrary so I believe him. For now.

Also, I remember he told me that during their civil wars, their school housed their students and their families during the vacation months to help with their needs when they couldn’t afford it on their own. I thought this was such a marvelous undertaking that I had our family send donations annually so the school can continue this service.”

-{-}-

Miya paused again before suppressing a smile at Hermione’s stunned expression. Her eyes were so wide, and with hair an even prettier mess from her student’s head scratching, Miya had to cover her mouth with both hands to contain her loud chortles.

She watched as the younger witch started to mutter under her breath, begging a quick pardon, before diving into her pad and doing some hasty notations, all while walking to the lounge area. Hermione’s hand was going from left to right across the paper rapidly, seeming to have forgotten the world around her. Her other hand was busy leafing through her textbooks and summoning some more from the bookshelves.

After a while of finishing up her last stances, Miya stood and approached silently behind her student and took a peek over a small shoulder. What she saw made a grin grow on her face.

At the sound of the studio door opening, she patted the top of Hermione’s head fondly before preparing some drinks for her other students of the day.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Swan! So sorry we’re late. A patient was being difficult with his root canal.”

“Who’d have thought that an army veteran was so squeamish,” chirped Mrs. Granger, graciously accepting the warm cup of orange lavender tea.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Granger. We were just done with some history lesson, and a small bit of social responsibility.”

“…what?”

* * *

_Diagon Alley, backdoor of the Leaky Cauldron, Charing Cross Road, London_

“Do you reckon we need to visit the bank, darling? This is an absurd amount of books from only one author. Are your professors fans of this person’s work?” asked Cynthia with a raised brow, skeptically checking their shopping list again.

“I know we have enough, mum. The rate didn’t change from two days ago. I checked.”

“How much are the books, Dia?”

“They’re about…35 Galleons.”

“So that’ll be…200 Pounds?! That’s daylight robbery!”

By this time, Hermione ran up dutifully to Flourish and Blotts, noticing the unusual line of gaggles of gabbling older witches. When she took a look inside through the display window, there’s some sort of commotion at a large table at the back, overflowing with what looks to be several shiny new books. She raised her brows as she looked over at the other display window, seeing the very books her parents were complaining about.

All seven required school books have pictures of a wizard with a blinding smile, poofy hair, and in different poses, depending on the title of the book. A mountain range served as backdrop for _Year with the Yeti_ ; a pretty nightscape for _Voyages with Vampires_ ; and a dilapidated but decadent seating room for _Gadding with Ghouls_. They’re all arranged around the biggest tome she’s ever seen, _Magical Me_.

He must be very accomplished to have written down this many volumes at a young age, Hermione mused. Published biographies like these usually take a lifetime to produce. Still, she wonders why these are all needed at school if they just need to know about the author. One, would be enough.

Thinking back, most of her professors have been teaching for several years and most likely already have their preferred course books for their students in all levels. It’s why the Weasleys could just give their younger siblings their hand me downs since they usually don’t change unless there’s an updated version of the book, which to Hermione seems like a rare thing, if she’ll judge the sometimes dated looking clothes wizards prefer to wear or even just the use of quills instead of pens, or if they have someone new to replace their professors, who then may have a different take on what he or she wants to teach the students.

This now brings her to think of the new Defense against the Dark Arts professor – whoever they are. He or she must be a big fan of this… _Gilderoy_ _Lockhart_. There’s no other explanation for it.

She jogged back to her parents, telling them the thirty percent discount they’ll get when they buy the seven books in a bundle.

“Well, at least that’s something. Oh look, buttercup. Isn’t that your new friend? He seems a bit…smoked?”

Hermione turned in time to see a dusty Harry, walking with a very large and burly man, guiding him out of a dodgy looking alley.

“That’s a mighty big bloke.”

“Dad, that’s Rubeus Hagrid, the school groundskeeper I told you about.”

“I didn’t think you meant it literally when you said he was as tall as a giant!” Mr. Granger hissed in Hermione’s ear, sizing up the school staff member with slight trepidation.

“Half-giant, actually. And don’t worry. He’s quite lovely for someone his size.

Wait, I think Harry’s glasses are broken again. I’ll meet you inside the bookstore.” Hermione said hurriedly before she took off.

“Oh look, it’s Mr. Weasley! And my, are all the red heads his? And they’re all equally ashy. Mr. Weasley, good morning!” called Cynthia with a merry wave.

The said wizard looked up before murmuring to his group to go on ahead of him before he walked over to the couple with a wide smile.

“Grangers! It’s very good to see you. Very good. How are you? Where’s Hermione? Ah, found our lost ward, has she. He’s been with us this summer you know. My boys got him out from being nicked in his aunt’s house. Like a jailhouse. They put bars on his windows. Can you imagine that?”

“Is he a trouble maker?”

Mr. Weasley chuckled. “Oh Merlin, no! Harry’s a good lad. Very polite. A little quiet. According to my son, Ron, his relatives don’t exactly welcome him being a wizard. They’d throw him out if they could.”

The brunette couple scrunched their brows and frowned, having an idea of the type of people those relatives might be.

“That’s just awful. They’re just like us, aren’t they? No magic?” William clarified in a soft voice.

“They’re muggles, yes. But unlike you, they think magic is something frightening. Harry’s being outed as the black sheep of the family. Not a good place to grow up in, honestly.” Mr. Weasley intoned with an emphatic shake of his head.

“Doesn’t he have anywhere else to go? Other relatives?” Cynthia inquired with a tilted head.

Mr. Weasley warily looked around before continuing in a lowered voice. “We think so. But he’s safest where he is, Dumblebore said. He even added protection spells to the house to better his security.”

The couple gave each other a side glance, silently questioning the wisdom of the decision but also the odd favoritism from one of the most celebrated wizards of all time, if their readings are anything to go by.

Having recently been educated on other types of learning environments that are available in other parts of the world, they’ve been wondering about Hogwarts’. All they knew last year was that Hermione is more gifted than they realized and they wanted her to pursue her goals somewhere they felt she’ll fit in better, make friends that are like her, and grow to be a well-rounded woman. These ponderings then extended to the school’s current Headmaster. From what they’ve read, he’s one of the reasons why the school encourages non-magical children to learn, fighting for their right to formal education. He’s earned various accolades for his contributions to alchemy, and is practically perfect in every way – at least in the papers.

But with this new information, Cynthia thinks there is definitely more than meets the eye than a distant administrator of an institution. From their experience, people of his caliber and position are more likely to show up at public events for a photo-op or too busy managing the school in various capacities behind closed doors. Thus, being less likely to interact with the school populace.

However, showing such attention for any single student is a little uncommon unless the said student is particularly gifted and could possibly earn the school a better reputation. Cynthia knows that this might be her bias talking but she knows Hermione has achieved her own sets of merit with much hard work and focus. Harry, and in extent, Ron, hasn’t given her that impression yet.

Then again, she’s not decades old enough to acquire the level of insight that the Headmaster must have to have seen something in the boy. Nonetheless, there’s still something not right; something that’s missing to complete the puzzle of her understanding. This year seems odd to her since the ‘textbooks’ that are required don’t seem particularly for learning. Maybe she could sneak in useful spell books from the store. Or maybe encourage Hermione to explore that huge library she raved about at the castle. Or maybe…

William watched as his wife completely absorbed herself in her musings. He understood where her train of thought might be going but it could take a while to knock her off from it. So he turned back to the red head, cutting him off politely from his enthusiastic ramble about the mechanism of coffee makers.

“ – Mr. Weasley, did you get to see that line? I think we’ll be here by nightfall before we get to buy any school books.”

“Ah! That’s for the book signing. Here, I’ll help you squeeze in. Molly’s already inside with the kids.”

* * *

_Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley, Charing Cross Road, London_

Hermione stood in awe as the author of the books himself came out of the back doorway, grin gleaming, glittering robes shining with tiny triangle patterns, like a Starling, decorating the edges and enhancing the blue hue. The overall effect directs every eye in the crowd towards his face and his wavy hair, which shined like spun gold in the light.

She tilted her head with a small smile, musing how contrary he looked to Mr. Lebedev, the only other good-looking wizard she’s seen so far. If he ever considers smiling more out in the open, he’d definitely be a hit with the ladies as well, if not more so, with his mysterious appeal. But despite his attractive features – striking blue eyes, dove-grey hair, masculine built, and impeccable dress in various muggle suits – he seems more content with his wife’s company, and occasionally the Grangers’, either listening quietly during the studio sessions, reading a spread or some of the tomes, or out in the gardens, talking on his hand held device or to thin wisps of silver that dissipates away after relaying some sort of message to him in different voices.

One time, she caught him cast something large and has wings but disappears in a rush with the wind before she could properly identify it.

She quickly dropped her smile when she saw Harry being held like a trophy on the wizard’s arm, posing for several pictures for the photographer that suddenly squeezed through her and her parents besides the Weasley brood.

Hermione huffed, vexed at her friend’s maltreatment. He already struggled in school with the whispers about his scar and his life. Putting his face on the front page won’t help at all. They have to keep a low profile after last year’s fiasco.

She broke from her thoughts when Lockhart started to speak, giving the bespectacled boy the complete set of his work, narrating it like how an article in the paper would sound like. She clapped along with everyone else while rolling her eyes up at her parents. Her mother was trying, and failing, to contain the humor in her eyes while her father just stood with a deadpan expression.

Hermione was just glad that’s not their new professor. She can’t imagine learning anything except how to work a crowd.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: And that's the rise and fall of Hermione's 'crush', since she has a better point of reference. Maybe she'll develop a preference to more East European features? ;3 (Thought I'd add a bit more details about Hermione in this chapter and fixed up the structure.)
> 
> Thank you so much to all that have taken a peek into this story, especially those that are interested enough to follow and review.
> 
> EDIT: 10/20/2020 Requested Translations / Explanation:
> 
> Protego Exosculatio - roughly means 'protect billings' in Latin. Completely made up! xD
> 
> What Mrs. Lebedeva did is called a Grounding Technique. You can do it whichever way but basically, you have to focus your five senses, one by one, on things that would physically help you keep present. To keep the anxiety and stress at bay enough to manage them.
> 
> Shamisen (三味線) - a traditional two-stringed instrument in Japan.
> 
> Naruhodo (なるほど) - 'I see; I understand completely' in Japanese.
> 
> I assumed the exchange rate between Muggle and Wizarding currency changes rapidly, depending on the country's economy. I don't even want to think about how wizarding economy works if it was separate. *mindblown*
> 
> daylight robbery - English metaphor meaning 'you are charged a lot of money for something that should cost a lot less or even nothing at all.' 
> 
> Dodgy - English slang for 'dubious'. And Knockturn Alley is that and more.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	7. Krumov Summer 1993: The Recognition

_Durmstrang Institute, ???, ??? (…Unplottable)_

_“I know it will be more difficult in the days to come, friend. But you must have more bones in your nose to face the upcoming challenges in life.”_

Lagging behind a crowd of first years hurrying towards the fleet of boats in the great lake, a befuddled Viktor turned to his calm dorm mate. They were walking leisurely out of the keep, with a bored _deildegast_ levitating their luggage behind them. They made their own way to catch the last ride out to their home countries for the summer.

_“_ Ee _?_ Ás _, what are you –_ _”_

_“ – H-hey, good game. Good job, Krumov!”_ stuttered a passing Latvian year mate, who waved shyly as they walked across the bailey. He soon joined a gathering of his Baltic brothers, who all looked over and smiled, echoing their own support for Viktor.

Viktor gave back a quick smile and wave before swiveling his head back to his friend. _“Now_ Ás _– ”_

_“I’ve watched these games back home. And even there, many fans get too excited. So always keep ice in your stomach – but not literally – especially during winter season._

_Wait, I meant the summer season, since more people are willing to watch in person.”_ Asbjørn corrected, with an absent scratch at his chin, dreamy expression unchanging.

Viktor frowned, still staring at the other. After all these years, he could only understand half of what the Norwegian says, even when they use the Institute’s common language. Before he could properly decipher, what he thinks, are a series of ‘advice’, a sudden clasp on his shoulder spun him to the right. He relaxed immediately when greeted by another blonde, tall enough to shoulder him jovially.

_“Well done, Viktor. And you even passed your examinations despite the cramming. Keep that determination and it will serve you well.”_

_“It’s all thanks to you_ , Dieter. _Your detailed notes were a lifesaver._ Merci _,”_ Viktor responded with a shake of his head.

The German patted his back good-naturedly, already used to his friend’s cultural quirks. He added his own luggage to the boundary ghost’s burden with a respectful bow. The specter just nodded his head, almost disappearing under the harsh sunlight that peeked through the clouds.

_“Work is the best jacket, as they say, for the cold times. And you wear it well. But just tell us when you need another breather next year,_ ja _? Being a student athlete is not an easy feat. I did not tell you this before but my older brother was the same in his school years and he almost lost his mind.”_

Viktor’s expression cleared, finally comprehending what they’ve been referring to.

For the past year, he admits – at least to himself – he may have overestimated his capability for time management, after all the unexpected variables he didn’t account for.

After a lengthy discussion with his trainer and parents about his upcoming work calendar, he sent a request to Durmstrang – through express falcon – for advance fifth year study materials. He wanted to dedicate time in his school calendar for his new training regime, his new duties at one of the Institute’s organizations – the Clash Club were prompt to enlist him after his stunt with the Grindelwald supporters – , and the numerous travels he’ll undertake over the weekends.

Trainer Valkov said the team would normally arrive for a match a day earlier, doing last minute prepping to make sure they’re physically and mentally ready. Depending on the location, and even when he uses fire travel, he needs to take off either on Thursday evening or Friday mornings, which may affect his classes, if any.

He prefers not sacrificing any of them, if at all possible.

Only after his falcon returned empty-taloned did he remember their High Master’s volatile temperament regarding appeals. He’d most likely send back a howler for a sound rejection than grant any one student a favor. Viktor had just solidified a plan on how to defend his case when one of the school’s owls arrived a week later. He felt astonished to read his request had been granted with no trouble, more so when he was graced with another visit three days later. A larger owl brought him numerous workbooks, some with highlighted notes that require in-depth self-study. When he sent express letters to his professors in inquiry, most gave the same succinct reason: so he’d have less dorm work to do and more time for his pursuits.

He remained restless, still waiting for the stick behind the carrot. He took a chance and fire called his Martial Magic instructor, hoping his new advisor will be more upfront with him, fire face to fire face. After a moment’s hesitance, the information he gave immediately put his family on guard.

Apparently, after the High Master heard about his imminent contract deal with the Striking Snipes – even though Viktor isn’t full time, nor is he in the main roster – , he read up on his family name and ancient legacy. And after reviewing his marks, particularly in martial magic, the older wizard handled his paperwork. _Personally._

Ivan Krumov suspected the former Death Eater may have plans on doting on his son once he’s back at the fortress – for a price. Alexandra meanwhile warns Viktor that it may also be a ploy to get into their good graces. The House of Krumov is still a respected, pureblood line; quite well-known in south and east Europe. And to those in the world who still honor Khan Krum of Bulgaria, they are very close, and very powerful allies of their family. Allies that could offer compelling protection against anything, against anyone –

Even the authorities.

Sooner rather than later, Viktor had a glimpse of Igor Karkaroff’s intentions. Barely at the start of term, was he suddenly plucked from the middle of class – with Georgi signaling he’ll take care of his bag – and prompted to divulge his short and long term plans at the High Master’s office. Viktor was patronized about making their school proud at all times... _or else_. He was browbeaten about never slacking off… _or else_. He was coaxed to trust in his High Master, for he can protect Viktor the best… _or else_.

Knowing the older wizard’s history, Viktor wisely kept a neutral expression, thanking him for the consideration in his schoolwork…and _nothing else_. He remained alert, posture relaxed but muscles tight; limbs and eyes at the ready to react to any movement the High Master may do in his displeasure.

After a long tense minute, High Master Karkaroff merely hummed, tapping idly on his desk, before leaning back against his chair. He then barked an order to report at his office often – to discuss more matters in detail – with a yellow grin that implied absolute obedience. Understanding the threat and dismissal, Viktor gave a polite bow before marching calmly out the door. Only after he was way beyond the range of the office did he loosen his shield over his mind. His Occlumency may be far from perfect but it will do. He had a prior objective when his father started teaching him, but his new situation added to the urgency to refine it.

In the following months, one of the downsides to reporting to the High Master’s office on an almost weekly basis immediately came to light: unwanted attention from people, either speculating about favoritism or admiring about getting a career while still in school.

There were days when he’s especially sensitive to the polarizing feelings of vitriol, jealousy, and occasional infatuation – but mostly the unexpected desire in the crowded mess hall or walkways, when he lingers. He was desperate enough for peace that he searched and hid in cozy nooks in the fortress during winter. But when the sun tempts him on bright days, he’d climb up to the tops of trees in the densest forest, at the mountain range adjacent the Institute, letting the cool breeze and sounds of nature calm him. He practices building up his inner walls and shields better here.

Despite the social turmoil and added task to his already full list, Viktor took it in stride, outwardly projecting that everything was under control. He took it as an opportunity to understand better the range of a _tragicus_. His limit so far was between fifteen to twenty meters, which is blessedly a shorter range than he estimated. At least he could avoid most of the chaos from a throng of fans in a stadium when he’s far up enough. But then, remembering the various references he read, this range could evolve depending on how long before he found his _custodia_.

If he could find her at all that is.

And he’s confident it’s supposed to be a ‘she’. As far as he knows, his affliction has not been affected by any male company he has kept since he was born.

And his preference was definitely the female variety.

The other downside to Viktor’s unwanted ‘office consultations’ was the total disarray of his meticulous scheduling. The efforts he made to lighten up his school load during summer break have gone to waste as he still lost sleep trying to catch up on his lessons, projects, and combat practice. The precious time he made for himself was now devoted to listening, for hours, to the High Master’s rants, musings, and interrogations. His Quidditch team drills didn’t help, as some days, he is required to train after class; to finish by ten or eleven in the evening, and continue to have them every other weekend unless it’s game day.

The mental, and emotional strain came to a head when, one early wintry morning, while jogging alongside Dietrich and Georgi, his body gave out from terrible exhaustion. It was a wake-up call for everybody, including himself. His friends realized too late the amount of stress he kept bottled up all this time.

He honestly didn’t mean to hide it from them, but it didn’t seem like a big deal when the inconvenient times felt small and inconsequential.

Dietrich, Mira, and his mother – through her worry-laced letters – , pointed out those moments may have accumulated to physically affect his body, what his stubborn mind refused to face.

With this in mind, while surrounding his bed in the healing hall, his dorm mates, and best friends coordinated amongst themselves who should accompany him at classes, during breaks, at his trainings, and even at his Quidditch preparations, whenever possible. Mira and Georgi in particular watched over his Occlumency exercises in the forest – they’re the only other people that know of his affliction. They even came up with contingency plans whenever the High Master is near; thinking of ways to hide him or give him leeway for an escape. They even bribed the school matron with at least three months’ worth supply of healing herbs just so the High Master will not hear of his fall.

Since the healing hall had always run short of important ingredients – due to a twisted view that the Institute’s student body is built strong, rendering healing unnecessary for most of the year – the matron happily agreed, stating it’s also her way of spiting the cruel man, having been a victim of his misogynistic remarks and unfair budget cuts. Mira vowed passionately on behalf of the group to double the amount of provisions the kind healer needs.

No one protested.

After months of rehabilitation, Viktor’s health and schedule stabilized. And even after, they kept up with their routine, acting as Viktor’s staunch bodyguards when members from his growing fan club get too touchy feely.

And now, the more Viktor is involved with winning matches in Bulgaria, and being active at the Clash Club’s quarterly demonstrations, the more the entire school forgets about favoritism and praises his name like it’s completely the norm.

Which is the smallest of concessions, he mused in a deadpan.

_“Well, it does feel that way sometimes but I am managing. Wasn’t your brother a Potioneer?”_

_“There are various competitions in that field as well. They equally come with the immense pressure to succeed. For now, you are managing because of us. What if you meet someone along the way – would you have time for her? What if we are away? And what if you get sick again? You are not invincible, Viktor, or perfect – despite what the school has started to believe. All your carefully laid plans in that planner of yours went in shambles. It will happen again if you don’t take care of yourself – ”_

_“ – keep up the good work, Vitya~!”_ called a few passing seniors, eyeing them flirtatiously and giggling quietly amongst themselves. Dietrich shook his head, frowning in disapproval.

_“They make my next point. You will have to deal with double the attention_ Bruder _had. No, quadruple. Quidditch is not as quiet and small an event as Potion-brewing.”_ He tapped at Viktor’s temple lightly, quietly emphasizing his point about mental fortitude.

Seeming to wake up from a daydream, Asbjørn interjected, _“Speaking of focus, your position as Seeker was once known as ‘Hunter’. It does not matter if you’re bigger than an ideal one would be. What is important is that you keep your tongue straight in your mouth always…I don’t mean freezing it!”_

Viktor did his best to keep a straight face. But he couldn’t help the twitch of his brow. _“Asbjørn, please stop. You are no longer making sense to me. What are you saying?”_

_“What’s in the way? You are not listening to me properly, Viktor.”_

Dietrich cleared his throat with a smiling glance at them. “ _I think I will speak for_ Ás _and myself._

_Next year will be our sixth year, a period in our lives which will burden us with the most stress yet, due to various preparations we’ll need for our final year. We will all become very busy; you, even more so. That is why we have done our best to lessen the load of your transition: from full time student to part time student - part time sportsman - part time conservationist - part time…whatever else you’ve been doing._

_I will admit, at times it was nerve-wracking to assist you these past months, but it is all in good fun. Ah! Do not give me that look. I’m not saying I regret it. But I am being realistic._

_Even accounting for_ Georgi _and_ Fraulein Stoyanova _, they may not always be there for you, even when you’re in the same country. Since that is the case, the best place to find a helping hand is at the end of your own arm…_

_…wait, that did not sound right._ ” Dietrich scrunched up his brows, double checking his translation.

Viktor nearly guffawed, resisting the urge to rub a hand down his face. He will never stop being touched by his friends’ care – impressed by their astuteness even – but he’s eternally dismayed by their ridiculousness.

He wrapped his arms around their necks before saying, “ _I appreciate all the help you have given me, especially those times I did feel like dying. Let’s just…lessen your words of wisdom and maybe think of other means next time_.”

_“And maybe no drinking when Georgi is involved,”_ Ás intoned sagely, the most sensible counsel he’s said to date.

Just then, another saying about speaking about the devil entered their minds as an obnoxiously loud call was heard from the lake. “Vinko! _We thought you’re dead. You’re so slow. Hurry up before they leave us behind!_ ”

The three boys looked up to the previously mentioned Bulgarians next to the plank of a _trireme_. It’s floating steadily next to a _karvi_ and a _dromon_ , who are also waiting for their last few passengers. All three vessels had their anchors pulled up, while the rest of the long boats sunk or has started to sink in their respective whirlpools already.

Viktor flexed his arms briefly for a last friendly squeeze before spinning to bow low to the spectral form behind them, plucking his trunk from the misty air. He marched forward to his assigned boat, slinging his luggage to a waiting deck crew, who caught it swiftly with the net that spewed from his wand and had it floated to Viktor’s usual seat.

“Thought we have to tell your father you’re going to stay for the summer, Mr. Busy Body.” Mira jested, handing him a leather drinking pouch. He was pleasantly surprised to get a splash of elderberry juice on his palate.

“Please no. I’ve had enough of the dark walls for now. I just had a chat with Dieter and Ás.”

Mira raised her brows, looking like she’s about to rant. “Honestly? I didn’t think they were this supportive after watching you guys fool around in your early years. I’d thought the jealousy would take hold, like the rest of the school. That’s discounting your growing fan club – which I’m not happy about by the way. Always harassing me for information. _Always_. And then it didn’t help that the high master was eerily giving you special privileges! ”

Viktor’s shoulders would have dropped if not for the mischief and relief he can feel underneath her sarcasm.

Mira just waved carelessly, ignoring his amused grin. “Stop that. And don’t think on it too much. It was a great time to practice my dodging. My aim for hexes got better too.”

“That may be good or bad for us, Vinko,” Georgi staged-whispered at his ear.

Mira reached over and slapped at Georgi’s shoulder. “You keep forgetting your voice carries to the entire boat when we’re below surface, _tikvenik_.”

* * *

_Uzunbodzhak (Magi) Biosphere Reserve, Strandzha Nature Park, Burgas_

Viktor had been lounging on a thick branch of an old tree when he felt a familiar set of emotions.

That’s odd, he thought. _Mamo_ never visits at this time and this trail before. And it seems she’s not alone.

For the last few centuries, this part of the reserve has been a haven for various restorative flora that is in high demand worldwide by many potioneers, state herbologists, recluse alchemists, and healing institutions. Unfortunately, so do rare ingredients hunters and the occasional endangered species botanists. In the last generation or three, the Krumovs and their associates have improved the control and security of all reserves; anyone that wishes to visit is monitored strictly, this includes their family. Therefore, he couldn’t remember reading about his mother – and her guest – visiting this area today.

From what he could sense, the guest is very tranquil and curious while his mother is enthusiastic. He has never felt her feel that way outside of cheering for him during his games or when she’s planning family outings, special lunches, or dinners. She only ever felt reserved but polite with most of her clientele.

His curiosity peaked, Viktor touched down with practiced agility and walked silently up to the older women.

When he’s within range behind a few clusters of moss covered trees, he can tell that the guest is petite, looking more like a young lady than someone who could be his mother’s age. When she turned to view another part of the shrubbery, her profile suggested she’s definitely not European, but holds herself like a traditional pureblood lady would: small hands folded together in front of her, shoulders relaxed but confident; back straight like nobility. He could vaguely hear them murmuring something very close to Bulgarian but seems to be off; similar but different.

He froze when he felt eyes on him. He look up to notice the guest eyeing him with a curious smile, still feeling tranquil but with an added flavor of amusement on top. He flushed in embarrassment for getting caught like a stalker but walked towards them anyway to greet them properly.

“ _Dushichka_! We didn’t see you there. I forgot this was your favorite space. No matter. Come, come! I would like you to meet someone that might become a frequent visitor here in the future, so please guide her if need be when you’re in the area,” spoke Alexandra with a big smile. She raised a hand and gestured towards him, “ _Lady Miya, this is my son, Viktor Ivanov Krumov. He just finished his fifth year in Durmstrang._ Vinko, this is Miya Sharma-Lebedeva, under the Great House of Lebedev, from Russia.”

There was something nagging at the back of his head when he heard “Great House” and “from Russia”. All the same, he bowed smartly, his fisted arm over his chest in a standard salutation of his family before he straightened and said in fluent Russian, “ _Welcome to the Uzunbodzhak Magibiosphere Reserve, Lady Lebedeva. If you have questions or need a guide, my family and our associates will be glad to give you direction.”_

For a few moments, the Lady seem to be looking over at him as closely as his father does when they are practicing his Occlumency, but he already checked that his shields have not been breached. Her penetrating stare was still a little intimidating, especially coming from someone who’s shorter than him. She smiled suddenly and did an elegant courtesy, as expected from a noble woman. But then she changed her stance and bowed from her waist, with her hands folded together, palm to palm, which surprised both of the Krumovs as they’ve never seen someone do such a gesture before.

She straightened, palms now folded over her chest, a pleased twinkle in her eyes. _“You both are very kind. It is an honor to be granted access, so rare is it ever given to anyone outside of the family. I can already feel the life thriving here._

_I hope I do not speak of out of line when I say that this forest, for example, would like to thank you for all the years that you have protected it, for it has long tried to tell you this by bearing fruits and flowers that are of great use, while many of its animals can be of service to you, whether for hunting, carrying packages, or be companions, if you want.”_ She finished with a tilted head, and small smile.

Viktor felt his jaw slackened, wondering how she could possibly claim that the forest... _talked_ …to her. But the only emotions he could feel from her were absolute honesty, her constant tranquility, and apparent delight at delivering this long withheld message. He saw her smile wider and raised a hand and gestured around them.

Knowing it was becoming rude to stare, he spun disbelieving eyes around the forest, seeing the entire flora again with more discernment: he spotted many blooms in this specific place were facing them, like offering their colors and scents for inspection. He took experimental steps towards one flowering vine covering the trunk of a tree and saw that its colors are oddly more vivid than he remembered when he arrived an hour ago.

If what she said was a truth…

He couldn’t properly describe what the pang in his heart meant but if it’s true, if all these years of protecting the beautiful landscape of his homeland has earned them the privilege to commune with nature –that it has been giving back to them, just seem so…extraordinary, even by magical standards.

Alexandra, on the other hand, was holding back tears, the fingers of one hand were shaking over her mouth, also looking around herself, and using her other to touch a nearby tree in reverence, trying to feel any changes like a glow, or movement on the bark and moss. Nothing really happened but the sounds of nature did become a little quieter, like the gentle coming of the new day – a new understanding.

As one, the Krumovs both turned to the serene lady, her hands folded in front of her again, her subtle jewelry glinting in the light.

Alexandra cleared her throat twice delicately, trying to find her calm. “ _I do not know what to say, Lady Miya. Your…news…is so…I just, I think I need to inform my husband about this_.”

Viktor could sense a small hint of sadness coming off the Lady Lebedeva now. “ _Oh. So I did spoke out of line? I’m terribly sorry. I just couldn’t ignore the cries of the trees when I stepped into this area_.”

“ _No no. It’s not like that but, you said they were…crying_?”

“ _Well, more like…hmm…reaching out. You see in my studies, aside from the domesticated animals, all wild life, including ancient vegetation, has sentience. Many trees here for example have long developed a capacity for perception to know which humans are trustworthy, and who are not._

_Apparently, despite your admirable measures of security, there are still some people that are able to sneak into this protected area, usually at the fall of night. But they stop in their tracks when they sense the foreboding irritation of the forest. Thinking they triggered alarms, they run away._

_A while ago, they’re more focused on giving you some peace, young man. They said when you got back from your travels, which I’m guessing was your months of boarding school, you seem so very tired. They made sure your favorite spot remained undisturbed._

_Well, until we showed up_.” Lady Lebedeva giggled.

Viktor remained stunned, realizing why his mother was comfortable enough to address the lady witch with such familiarity in so short an acquaintance. Even though he’s the only _tragicus_ in their immediate family, her genuineness shines through whether one can sense it or not.

After a long but peaceful silence, Viktor tentatively stepped forward and bowed humbly in front of their guest. “ _Thank you, Lady Lebedeva, for bringing this great sentiment. I am still bewildered but… I think knowing this makes us even more determined to protect it_.”

Alexandra approached and squeezed her son’s shoulder with affection. “ _This is true. And that’s what I meant when I said that I needed to tell my husband about your message. He will be just as thrilled as us, I’m sure. Maybe we’ll even research our archives. One of our ancestors might be as nature-sensitive as you and might have written down something_.” She turned excitedly to her son, seeing him grin at the idea.

Lady Lebedeva clapped her hands in delight. _“I am confident you’ll find what you’re looking for. Maybe that’s the reason why you protect it in the first place.”_ She deduced, closing her eyes with a bigger smile.

Mother and son just stared again, dumbfounded, mind blown with the possibilities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I think I projected my work stress on Viktor by accident. Oops.
> 
> But, like Viktor, everything turned out well when a good support system is in place. And I just wanted to emphasize how tough it is for athletic scholars or varsity players to manage their time. With Viktor's fame reaching legendary levels in the books and in the movie, I was sure it didn't start that way like a walk in the park. (edited the structure and added some more content)
> 
> I'm glad there are some that are liking my OC. I've enjoyed writing her.
> 
> EDIT 10/21/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> To have bones in your nose (Å ha bein i nesa) - "To be tough and determined; not afraid to speak up." in Norwegian
> 
> deildegast - is a type of ghost connected with the sanctity of boundary stones in Norwegian belief. Try to read them up. I was amused and aghast of the poor soul's fate.
> 
> The Baltic Region in Northeast Europe composes of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania.
> 
> Ice in one's stomach (Is i magen) - a Norwegian saying that means 'keep you cool; keep calm'
> 
> Stick and Carrot - is a metaphor for the use of a combination of reward and punishment to induce a desired behavior. Basically Viktor was waiting for the 'other shoe to drop', so to speak.
> 
> Merci (Мерси) - a casual 'thanks' in French. Interestingly, its also widely used in Bulgaria. You can use Blagodarya (Благодаря), which is literally 'giving you a pleasant gift' in Bulgarian; basically a deeper and more formal way of expressing gratitude. But long answer: The use of French and adopting French culture was a trend with the intellectuals and businessmen back then, so it stuck. And short answer: Merci is easier to say and remember.
> 
> work is the best jacket (Arbeit ist die beste Jacke) - a German saying that means 'The best way to warm yourself up is by doing something useful'
> 
> Ja - 'yes' in German
> 
> Bruder (Brúder) - 'brother' in German
> 
> Keeping the tongue straight in the mouth (Holde tunga rett i munnen) - a Norwegian saying that means 'to concentrate / focus'
> 
> What's in the way? (Hva er i veien?) - a Norwegian expression meaning 'what's wrong?'
> 
> tikvenik (Тиквеник) - implied as 'pumpkin-head' in Bulgarian. Equivalent to calling someone an 'airhead'
> 
> Mamo (мамо) - 'mom' in Bulgarian; or short term for mother
> 
> Dushichka (Душичка) - a term of endearment in Bulgarian. Literally like 'ducky' or 'honey'
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	8. Granger Summer 1993: The Solicitude

_Tennis du Lac, Lac Kir, Dijon_

The insistent sound of smacked rubber in the court was a constant reminder to the father-daughter duo that Cynthia Granger was a force to be reckoned with.

While William watched with wide eyes as his wife thrashed the living daylight out of the ball launcher, Hermione wryly remembered the series of events that led to her mother’s show of frustration.

First and foremost on the list, was the fact that she missed out on many of her lessons – not to mention suffering from the utterly deplorable class that was being ‘taught’ by a fraud –, and spent most of her term recovering in the hospital wing.

She felt as if she hasn’t learnt a thing this year – except perhaps to always triple check her potion ingredients before she consumes any finished product, Hermione thought in self-reproach.

Okay, that’s an exaggeration.

But she just felt so irritated.

So… _helpless_.

It’s like being left behind all over again.

Before Harry. Before Ron. _Before Mrs. Lebedeva…_

She was irritated, most of all, at herself. She should have reported about the suspicious happenings around school to an immediate authority, namely, the Head of Gryffindor House; the one person she has direct access to she feels she can count on; she could trust. As a younger student, she should have reported to the prefects or, even the Head Boy or Girl. But with what happened with Professor Quirrel, she’s become wary of whom she should approach, especially while she’s improving her better judgement.

On the other hand, despite the rather… _furry_ …consequence of her first trip in the hospital wing, she couldn’t help but feel proud that she successfully brewed a complex potion on her own, including the time it took to monitor it. From what the boys told her, it ran out exactly in one hour – just as she calculated, given her current magical ability – , almost forgetting about it if not for their feet shrinking rapidly in their borrowed shoes.

She felt a light bubble of confidence, making her eyes bright. She thinks maybe, just maybe, she can succeed the trials Slytherin’s exacting Head might dish out in the future, whether he does it out of spite or genuine need to teach them, as any good teacher would. His personality may rub _a lot_ of people the wrong way, but she can recognize a brilliant Potions Master when she’s one – she couldn’t forget his riddle for the sixth obstacle last year. It was remarkably artful in its logic. And as an educator, he may be unfairly biased against her, or at least as Harry’s friend – she’s observant enough to see as much – but the scratched _Outstanding…barely_ or _Exceed Expectations…surprisingly_ on her papers still encouraged her, even with veiled snide notes at the bottom that ran along the lines of ‘must be less smug about herself’ and ‘keep her nose out of the books every now and again’. A rather tame way of saying she should stop being a know-it-all bookworm, as he’s so fond of saying out loud to the entire class.

She would have taken offense if not for the knowledge that she has other sources to learn from now on, Hermione grinned. And one of them said that she shouldn’t be ashamed of what she loves to do, and reading is definitely a favorite hobby.

A hobby that helps her saves lives – or at least her best friends’. If that meant she’s labelled as a bookworm, so be it. She’s proud to be one.

Watching now as her dad approach her mother gingerly, with forearms raised like he’s expecting a strike from a coiled snake, reminded her that she has yet to figure out how to find and buy Boomslang skin they ‘acquired’ from Professor Snape’s personal stores. She felt guilty for stealing from a teacher, even if it’s _this_ particular one.

Nonetheless, she had to do what was necessary to lessen the chances of any more harm that could come to people like her – even when it was at her expense.

If that wasn’t troubling enough, the bit about how to get it back in the cabinet is a tricky one. She might need some ‘expert’ help to achieve this but she doubts the twins would be up for it, thinking it might be something too nice for someone they utterly dislike.

She’d have to tack the thought for later.

During the lonely hours spent in her hospital cot – after finishing any work assignments and essays the boys could manage to bring to her – she had written to her parents, missing their company terribly. She yearned for their familiar comfort, especially the kind of hug that they’re giving each other now as her mother finally lost steam.

That was their first Christmas season apart. At first, her parents were reluctant to give their consent for her to stay behind. Her mother emphatically stressed, in writing, a foreboding feeling she had after her conversation with Mr. Weasley. She insisted this may not be a good time to remain at school. Her dad even tried to sweeten the deal by making her favorite meals for the entire duration of her winter break.

But knowing what’s at stake, Hermione stood her ground and asserted the need to stay. She made a two-page spread about spending more time with the boys, Harry especially, as so many unfortunate things have been happening to him for the past months – the unpleasant sensation of growing the bones out of an entire arm still makes her shudder to this day.

Although they became sympathetic, the older Grangers remained unmoved, stubbornly reasoning with her still. She had no choice but to allow some half-truths in her letters: about some blood discrimination happening at school – which is true. She’s been called different names before but the new one took the muddy cake –, and her need to address it by helping with a cause – which is, to find and stop the Heir of Slytherin.

She became more passionate as she wrote on, thinking of more horrible things that could happen to the other students if this went any further without an intervention.

After the tenth owl exchange, eventually they gave in, citing that while they still worry over her safety, they support and encourage the compassion she’s growing for other people, aside from her friends. This made her pause for an undeterminable amount of time that night; eyes unseeing the parchment on her lap, never really thinking that’s another definition she could describe the righteous outrage in her veins against an injustice.

Her hand had unconsciously gone to her wrist, rubbing thoughtfully.

A week before the twenty fifth of December, healing balms and restorative draughts arrived at Hermione’s dorm window by means of a cuddly gray cloud of feathers, who cooed and waddled at her adorably. Pasha, the brave Diamond Dove that stared Mr. Lebedev down with no fear.

She deduced her parents must’ve contacted Mrs. Lebedeva somehow – most likely through phone call. Her father was giddy when their new cellular phone arrived over the summer – and relayed some of the things she hinted at and probably what they’re worried over.

She should have known it’s enough warning for what was to come.

Her mother has never been wrong.

When she sent her letter to their household stating her feline condition, she knew her parents would be incredibly but understandably upset and would try to find a way to the school grounds. She added a post script saying one of Mrs. Lebedeva’s tasty curatives helped the healing process very pleasantly. And according to the resident matron – who was impressed with the lovely smelling bottles after she tested them –, Hermione will see an improvement in just a few short weeks, instead of the months she expected.

With their worry abated by the fact that she can be cured, her dad was comfortable enough to spend those weeks teasing her about catnip and sending cat treats while her mother cooed at some cute image, envisioning her mane of hair as fluffy fur, maybe looking like a Persian Longhair’s.

Hermione was affectionately exasperated with their antics. But she’d rather have this than the tense correspondence she had with them that forced her to tell them why she brewed such a complicated potion in the first place.

According to dad, her mother didn’t take the news about a deadly monster specifically targeting muggle-borns well. He said he had to physically restrain her from trying to schedule a flight to the Highlands – since plane flights to Scotland are just about an hour and a half away – , and ask the Lebedevs for help to get into the school the rest of the way. She would have asked Mr. Weasley instead but considering his recent altercation with someone called a ‘mal-foil’ about the _Muggle Protection Act_ – which they like him even more for – , her mother thought she wouldn’t want to add to his plate right now.

Hermione can definitely see where she gets her temper from, as well as her reasonable logic.

Her dad went on to say that when messages from the Eurasian couple arrived through their doves – considering what’s happening in school is a sensitive case, Mr. Lebedev claimed he didn’t want to risk using devices – , they advised the Grangers to wait for more information instead of doing anything rash. Though they still believed that there is still something lacking in Hogwarts’ educational system, surely its current Headmaster would not let these disturbances go on for long. And there is the option of sending the students home while the grounds were investigated.

Hermione had doubted the theory, explaining Headmaster Dumbledore seems to be trying to keep things quiet, probably having the staff do the investigation on their own before involving anyone else.

From what she gathered from Fred and George about the Ministry of Magic, it isn’t quite… _okay_ – which about sums up a similar description about the muggle Parliament.

They actually ranted to her when they visited for a few days, just as Hermione started to shed all her fur. She ate the sweet treats they brought as congratulations for masterminding a good prank in the dungeons. They said they sometimes wondered, despite all the years their dad served in the Ministry, he hasn’t gotten the recognition he deserves.

The ‘stuck-up’ purebloods who occupied key roles in it has influenced against any efforts that would treat muggle-borns, muggles and even squibs as more than second class citizens. Any ‘blood traitor’ that visibly supports these efforts is discriminated against instantly yet subtly, to which an example of this is the low pay and their father’s super tiny office space.

With all that in mind, Hermione relayed her assumption that perhaps, when things get out of hand, like spilling sand from the crevices of a tight fist, the Ministry will ultimately step in but the school will continue to operate, as an assurance to the parents that everything is under control. Where the Headmaster will be during this time, she is uncertain.

A chill went through her as she signed that last letter.

Hermione never dreaded being right before, but also never really comfortable with the notion that she might possibly inherent her mother’s…whatever it is. But that exact feeling as well as the image of the owl carrying her message was the last thought that ran through her mind before she went under the pulling reflected gaze of the massive predator in the halls.

All was dark for a long time.

Blissfully, no torment came up from the shadowy corners of her mind, letting her just rest in the quiet

When next she woke on a hazy summer morning, groggily turning her head to the sound of Professor Snape’s billowing robes as he walked away from her, she noticed him turning abruptly to splash something at Sir Nicholas’ transparent form. Her own Head of House glided over with the quiet click of her heeled feet and patiently helped her settle better in an inclined position, amongst additional transfigured pillows.

With her limbs still feeling like gelatin, her hands wrapped gingerly around a warm cup of chocolate. She stayed silent as Professor McGonagall coolly informed about her parents’ visit a few nights. Hermione just nodded, resigned, coming to the conclusion that her mother may have suspected something went wrong when her letters suddenly stopped coming.

Surprisingly, Professor McGonagall relayed they had sent her a formal letter requesting for a visit and a talk, instead of the loud protest Hermione was expecting. The professor elaborated that since they were muggles, she arranged for their arrival via the express, giving them permits to arrive at Hogsmeade Station. She received them herself and guided them to Hermione, before continuing to her office for a rather calm and serious conversation.

The older witch moved on to succinctly brief Hermione on the events that happened while she was petrified, and her parents’ request to notify them once her condition has been remedied, to which she has dutifully done so two days ago.

“And another thing, Miss Granger.”

“Yes, Professor?”

“ _This_ arrived for you. Quite unusual. It’s the same one that delivered the formal letter to my rooms.” She gestured towards a large dozing dove perched on the cot’s head frame, head buried in its feathers, with some papers peeking out of the little leather holster on its back.“When you’re feeling up to it, freshen up in your dorm. The farewell feast will be in a few hours. I suspect you’ll be needing the time to pack up and – ”

“ – the feast? Already?! Err…But-but what about the exams? Professor, I never got to study for them at all.” Hermione fretted, with eyes conveying an immediate apology at her initial loud tone.

“Quite right. Well,” Professor McGonagall sniffed, with a wry raised brow, “The Headmaster had decreed a few nights ago that exams for first years up to fourth are cancelled in light of the successful retrieval of Miss Weasley, the vanquishing of the King of Serpents, and as well as to celebrate surviving the harrowing events of the past year.”

When Hermione remained thoughtful and quiet despite the good news, her stern Head softened her piercing stare. “You don’t have to worry about missed marks. You’ve already proven yourself quite well already, Miss Granger. I dare say you have promise, more than any student I’ve seen in a long time, especially in my own House. This has been apparent when we saw your note of how the beast has been travelling the school without our notice.”

She pulled out a familiar scrap of paper from her robes and flapped it once. She seemed to contemplate the younger witch for a few more moments before adding in a softer tone, “If you and your family permit and desire it, I shall make a special request that would enable you to catch up on your studies, as I can infer you do not wish to just waive them off like your classmates have done, considering Dumbledore’s announcement.”

Hermione nodded eagerly, a smile finally spreading across her face.

The strict professor looked on with a pleased look. “I’ll send you an owl if I get an update. I’ll let you know then. Good day, Miss Granger, and enjoy your summer.”

Falling back down on the downy pillows, Hermione gently woke Yuuya up. He cooed softly in return, his brown neck feathers puffing up more, and pecked at one envelope she took from his back that looked like standard muggle mail, postal stamps and all.

Plane tickets greeted her widening eyes.

* * *

_Jardin botanique de l'Arquebuse, Albert-Premier, Dijon_

_Run. I must run._

Footsteps. Heavy boots. Stomping.

The threatening sound of sliced leaves and grass.

A dim glow.

_Hide. I must hide._

Male voices, taunting, deep, threatening.

“Come out now, little one. We just need some of your hair. That’s all. It’s such a pretty color.”

“We just want a strand or two! And then you’ll be safe with us. Promise.”

“…besides, you’re too adorable to waste…,” whispered the first voice darkly.

My heartbeat was so rapid, like the beat of a golden Snidget’s wings.

_They lie. They always lie._

Males are troublesome, and vile creatures.

Except father and grandfather.

_They protected us. They love us_.

_Sincerely._

These ones are greed, _personified._

Grandmother said to be wary. They take and _they take_ , until there is nothing left.

I close my eyes tight, and curled more into a ball, among the tall hedges. The trickle and burble of the water nearby hid my movements, hid my shaking.

_Breathe. Keep calm._

_Don’t use your wand._

They’ll find you. They’ll track you.

_Like an animal._

That’s what they are to these…people.

But they’re the ones who are inhumane.

But I have to be strong.

If they find me…then they’ll find sister. They’ll find mother. They’ll find grandmother.

_Her beautiful family._

They won’t resist. They can’t resist.

We are alluring; our advantage…our curse.

She may be too young to know, should be too young to know, but her Grandmother thinks otherwise.

_Knowledge is power, just as their bodies can be used for power_ , she said.

_They have the power to put men on their knees_ …

…but there are always exceptions.

Like these ones, wearing enchanted metallic goggles as protection.

Special hunters. Traders.

_Predators_ that exchange magical hides for trinkets. For infamy, or wealth.

_Or all of the above._

A long beat of silence and faint sounds of crackling air from afar.

She can no longer feel their presence, hopefully apparating somewhere else.

What if that’s a trap? What if they’re still _here_?

Heart beat accelerating, her right fist felt the groves of her wand painfully.

She can’t risk it. She can’t risk being seen just yet.

_Keep still_. Don’t use your wand. _Breathe._

-{-}-

The slow passage of time felt like days before she heard voices again; the dreary dawn turned into a cheery mid-afternoon. The colors of the flowers in the area are more vibrant with the light.

The young girl tentatively, and tiredly raised her head, her eyes narrowed towards where she could hear the sound of laughter.

Three brunettes were sat on an enormous blanket, one male and two females, all looking similar to each other, babbling in a language she’s vaguely familiar with.

When the man raised a sandwich to take a bite and hummed in delight, her stomach picked a good time to rumble in embarrassing hunger.

What she assumes as a small family turned quiet, looking about in alarm.

The smallest one turned her head around until they caught each other’s gaze.

One was wary but curious. The other, mortified but frightened.

As she looked on, the curly haired girl raised a hand slowly and waved towards her direction. The other two spun their heads, leaning over the girl’s shoulders and also found her hiding place.

There was more silence as she stared back at them all.

The man eyed his sandwich before looking back at her, making a connection. He smiled softly and raised it enough to show it to her and gestured with his other arm to come towards them, to join them.

The older female smiled brightly and nodded, patting on the space beside the girl, to emphasize the welcome.

The girl then spoke disjointedly, “ _Join us. Eat? Food is more? Plenty? Food, plenty._ ”

“ _There is plenty of food_ ,” she absently corrected, voice slightly hoarse but still sweet to the ears. She widened her eyes and blushed to the tips of her ears for being rude.

But the girl just smiled wide, slowly mimicking how she spoke, and repeated it back.

With the adults nodding along in agreement, relaxing back to their previous positions and pulling out more snacks and drinks from a basket, she finally crawled out of her bush while surveying the peaceful surroundings.

She can’t feel any dark auras anymore, less so from the family of three.

She took a deep breath, stretched out her arms and other limbs, before plopping blearily on the blanket.

When she looked up, she noticed they all stared at her right hand that’s still holding her wand.

She tilted her head, puzzled, before realizing this was a non-magical garden.

“La sorcière! _I am too,_ ” exclaimed the older girl with a beam. “ _Hello. But you look…not full? Should eat. Please._ ” She pushed some of the food nearer.

She loosened her tense shoulders and tentatively returned a small smile, hurriedly placing her wand back into her dress pocket before receiving a piece of croissant and juice with quiet gratitude. She didn’t think her hunger and thirst was so bad until the offered fruits and cheese on her lap disappeared within a few minutes.

When they all ate their fill with contented sighs, the mother spoke slowly, but clearly. “ _Are you feeling better now, little one? Can you find your way back to your parents_? _Do you live nearby?”_

She gulped and looked around miserably, shaking her head. “ _I am not sure where they are. I am not sure where I am. I just ran from bad men.”_

The females gasp while the father’s face turned serious. He also spoke slowly, in a broken speech, but gently, to comfort her. “ _What time, running? Are they still looking, the men? Is memory okay with what they look like_?”

It took her a minute before she eventually understood what he meant. It took her another minute or two to assess that this man is good.

“ _Black robes, scary aura. Very evil. Metallic goggles over their eyes. There were two. I hid since dawn_.”

“Poor thing. Cynthia, let’s regroup at the hotel.”

The unfamiliar words went over her head, but she understood he was now talking to his wife.

_“_ Agree. _Little one, are you comfortable enough to stay with us while we try to look for your family_? _We have friends that might know how to contact them.”_

She went quiet again, assessing, thinking, before she nodded in agreement. But before any of the brunettes stood to clean up, she quickly picked herself up and curtseyed as elegantly as possible, despite the leaves stuck in her silvery-blonde hair and the dirt and dried sweat still smeared on her face and neck. She took a breath, bowed her head, before reciting in a formal tone, “ _I am gratified by your willingness to shelter and protect me. When I am returned to my family, I will owe you a life debt. I willingly give you a life debt. Speak now to bind what is and what will come. The circle will be complete._ ”

An awkward stillness was her answer.

She opened one eye and peeked at the still seated family, faces showing great astonishment.

“Ben…euh… _was I not clear? Do you need me to repeat it?_ ”

“Oh! Well… _honey, that sounds…that sounds very serious. But really, you owe us nothing, nothing as precious as your life. Don’t worry about it, dear_ ,” said the woman, with frantic hands as if waving her spoken vow away.

“ _We want help you. That all. Need not for…this_ ,” added the older girl, gesturing vaguely towards her still curtseyed stance.

She straightened herself with scrunched brows, playing with her hands nervously. “ _But, you’re offering me protection. That is saving my life. What else can I offer as much as that?_ ”

“…Ah-mi? _Friends? Can be friends? Friends, good. That all._ ”

She blinked slowly, absorbing the simple request.

She blinked twice more before smiling more widely, seeing the male in the group at the corner of her eye blinking his own after he shook his head in bewilderment – definitely a good man. He can fight the temptation.

“ _Friendship? That is all? That’s all you want?_ ” she clarified again, making sure.

“ _Why not? Friends are nice_. _Friends, good._ ”

A sudden warm pang spread out of her chest. She blinked away the tears that are threatening to spill.

“Well! Now that’s settled. What’s say we run back to our room and help her freshen up? I’ll fix everything here. Buttercup, you go on ahead with your mum and miss…wait, did we introduce ourselves yet?”

“Oh my! Where are our manners. _Little one, we’re terribly sorry. We forgot to tell you our names. My name is Cynthia Granger. You can call me Auntie Dia if you want. That there is my husband, William Granger. I’m sure he won’t mind you calling him Uncle Will_ – ”

“ _– and, my name is Hermione Granger_. _It is very nice to meet you._ ” The basic phrase flowed well this time. She was pleasantly surprised though to be curtseyed back by the older girl, having not thought to be given equal respect due to her age, as was tradition in pureblood society.

So touched was she that she hugged Hermione Granger tight, letting a small tear fall at last.

When she thought the older girl might be offended of her show of affection, she felt arms warmly hugging her back, even giving her a firm squeeze which made her giggle like tinkling bells. She then felt a large hand on her head, smoothing her locks free of debris while another more feminine one squeezed one of her shoulders.

“ _How about you, dear? What’s your name?_ _It will greatly help us find your family._ ”

She cleared her throat, slackening herself from the warm circle but reluctant to be released from them completely.

“Delacour. Gabrielle Delacour.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: "The Brightest Witch of Her Age" is a common compliment to Hermione. She absorbs information like a sponge. How does she process it all? I see her as someone who has a mind full of various threads of thought, that only start to make sense when sewn together to complete a tapestry of events. (updated the structure a bit)
> 
> To the new subscribers or those that bookmarked this story, welcome!
> 
> EDIT: 10/25/2020 
> 
> La sorcière! - 'witch' in French
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	9. Summer 1993: The Judgement

_Marché Saint-Pierre, Montmartre, 18 th arrondissement, Paris_

“Was that all she could manage to tell you?”

William smiled distractedly at his wife as she sidled up next to him, who kept a close eye on the inside of the textile store across from them, while obviously listening in on his conversation.

“About so! The poor dear didn’t get much rest before we found her – or she found us? She kept looking over her shoulder until we arrived at our hotel. We didn’t push her for any more than the most basic questions: family name, how old is she, etcetera. We had her freshen up and put to bed with borrowed clothes from Hermione.

She called those men something though; couldn’t quite grasp it. Like a title? Even Dia didn’t recognize it, and her French is better than mine.”

A short hum of understanding before a pause. “Where are you now? It sounds like a market.”

“Oh right. We’re in Paris, doing a little shopping for bits ‘n bobs on the side; makes the women folk happy.” Cynthia pinched him on his side before he gently batted her hand away with a wag of his brow.

“Well, most of them anyway; our buttercup didn’t fancy anything. But when we pass by a fabric store, the little one perked up and dragged Hermione to it to find, and I quote, ‘the best looking swatches for your complexion’.

It’s rather adorable.

Anyway, we figured the best place to start looking for her family is in the capital city. It might be where an, ah, ‘alley’, similar to back home, would be. Good thing it’s only three hours away by train from where we were vacationing.”

“Sensible reasoning. You are looking for _Place Cachée_. It is in Montmartre to be exact.

If I may say so, if you are anywhere near that hill, go to the _Musée de la Franc-Maçonnerie_ where it is housed in a building called _Grand Orient de France_. It is near the place of what you seek.”

“Brilliant! We’re in _Saint-Pierre_. How close is the museum from here exactly?”

“…”

“Hello?”

Mr. Swan’s voice drifted off, saying something incomprehensible under his breath. William pinched his brow, trying to decipher the murmured odd stringing of consonant sounds. It’s strangely melodic in its smooth flow.

William remained calm and unaffected. Although his sensibilities get off-kiltered when someone is talking to him in another language, he let it slide. “Sooo this, museum? It’s near?” The older gentleman has always been extremely polite to his family – if you ignore his intimidating demeanor. He reasoned to himself he might’ve said it unconsciously.

“I apologize for being rude, Granger. What I said is of no consequence,” Ah. Well-mannered as always. “Yes. If you all are up for it, you may walk to the establishment with not much effort. Twenty minutes. Or, if you have a vehicle, fewer than ten. I will meet with you there at two.”

“‘Meet’ with us? You’re in France?”

Cynthia angled her head up at him, raising her brows. William just shrugged, also befuddled.

“I have business in France this morning. After, I mean to guide you, if you do not mind.”

“That’s very much appreciated, thank you, sir.

But you sure have a lot of businesses, Mr. Swan. Last summer was in the UK, then now France. Do you visit them in rotation?”

“I attend to all work as much as I can. It is merely fortuitous we are on the same country again, just as it is providential we all met.”

“I didn’t take you as the philosophical sort, old chap.” William jested with a slight chuckle, relaxing his shoulders. They may not have interacted much before, but the past months they corresponded over Hermione’s series of ‘predicaments’ at school made him comfortable enough to address the stately wizard less formally. Only just so though. He didn’t want to offend such an enigmatic figure.

He heard Mr. Swan let out an amused huff. “Not quite. That would be Miya. Nonetheless, there are many miraculous things in this world. Your family’s kindness is one of them. It helps that you came as a trinity and have good minds.”

William responded with a confused sound, yet feeling flattered. Cynthia beamed, overhearing the compliment.

“It’s a mix of two old sayings. I’ll explain at a later time. But I’ll explain this: _doveryái, no proveryái_. Although I trust your current environ is safe, heed your instincts, as it has served you well. I will await you at two.”

A click and a resounding beep followed.

-{-}-

“Ermione, _this will not do. You are a girl, you need more dresses!”_ exclaimed Gabrielle with confident authority. It is such a shame Hermione hides her growing curves in those loose clothes. Like a boy. It just would not do.

“ _I dress for comfort, not to show off,_ Gabrielle.” The curly haired witch grumbled, but still stroked the rich fabrics with a soft touch and admiring gaze.

“ _You’re older than me. You should be comfortable in dresses now, like big sister. But I understand. You are more conservative, no? More…modest? But the solution is simple. Look at that woman’s attire as an example. It reaches below the knees and it is colorful; very magnificent on her_.”

“Gabrielle, _look at the height. Her height. She is a model; she should look good in what she is wearing. I am not like that.”_ Hermione argued, feeling a little piqued at being taught fashion by an eight year old.

The petite blonde shook her head with a delicate harrumph. _“That is not the point. Each person has their own beauty, no matter how obscure it is for others to see. You don’t understand? Obscure is …cannot be seen easily? Unclear. Yes, unclear for others to see._

_Look again before she walks away. She is tall, yes, but she looks unhealthy. Very skinny. My mama will have words with me if I neglect myself like that. So you must not neglect yourself, which includes both mind and body, and whatever you wrap yourself in. Besides, you don’t need to worry too much. These are just clothes – beautiful ones that are very pretty surprisingly, even though they are made out of non-magical threads._

_It’s not as if you have to drink the sea.”_ Gabrielle finished breezily before twirling towards Mrs. Granger, who by now is closer to the entryway, and quickly showed the mother the fabrics for purchase. The older woman examined the materials with a little rub between fingertips before nodding in enthusiastic approval, giving Gabrielle some money and shooing her to go back to her daughter.

Gabrielle’s eyes widened with fascination, studying the tiny and still portraits of men in strange garbs on the very light, fibrous parchment. The youngest Delacour has to hand it to the _non-magique_ , they are practical. She knows that they also use coins for currency but they don’t use them as much as these colored papers when trading goods.

Then again, they don’t have weightless expanding purses like she does.

_“You’re making my point,_ Gabrielle _.”_ Hermione deadpanned but with a droll look when the younger girl came back to her side, insisting on being guided how to pay. “ _There is saying: ‘The outfit doesn’t make the monk’. I think I will still be okay being myself in whatever I wear._ ”

_“Are you mocking me and my good judgement? No matter, I take no offense. At least you are getting better in speaking my language.”_

_“I would not want to offend your parents when we meet them.”_ Hermione quipped, turning to continue speaking in stilted but more confident French to the male cashier when they arrived at the counter.

_“You see? ‘When’, not ‘If’. You do not doubt, just like your papa and mama do not doubt I will see my family again. You are all determined to bring me home. Not many would do this, so my offer of a life debt stands,”_ whispered Gabrielle in Hermione’s ear on tippy toes, wrapping her arms around one of the older girl’s, hugging it tightly.

The taller preteen raised an eyebrow skeptically but replied softly. _“We’re…_ not magic? Err, _non-magique? It sounds like old exercise, that life debt. We don’t want an exchange. We just want to do good.”_

_“…Ah! You mean it is an ancient practice, no? In our society, we have many traditions; however, some would neglect them due to not being of old blood or just plain lazy. Parents nowadays would not bother to teach their children anymore because they think it’s outdated or not convenient for the times._

_But there are traditions that are still very important,”_ Gabrielle insisted. _“Old magic is alive. It is all around us; a binding which is as strong as thick rope. It cannot be broken, or else, dire consequences._

_There must be a balance. Your deed will return to you, no matter your blood. That’s what my grandmama and mama would say.”_

Hermione’s expression cleared, nodding thoughtfully. _“_ Karma _. A cause and effect. Everything comes back to you. My teacher taught me. You’re very wise for your age, you know,” she smiled._

Gabrielle smiled back brightly at the older girl, ignoring the admiring looks from the clerk and the men shopping nearby. Not only does Hermione have a compassionate heart, she is smart. Big sister would surely approve of her new friend, having always preached to her it’s better to be alone than to be with bad company.

“ _Girls! Let’s get a move on. I’m sure you’ll love to eat now before we go on any other adventure.”_

Synchronized ‘oui!’s was heard before the puttering of small feet quickly approached the Granger couple outside the shop.

* * *

_Mamayev Kurgan Memorial Complex, Volgograd, Volga_

“How are they, _dorogoi_?”

Maksimillian tapped at his cellular phone, eyes focused ahead. “They seem well. I was discourteous for a moment during the discussion. I offered my apologies.”

“What did you say?”

“I said ‘Interestingly uncanny. Maybe I should have you in the agency.’ I was unaware I said it out loud. It’s just a thought. Their intuition and deductive reasoning could become a valuable asset.”

Miya giggled behind his chair before a freshly brewed cup of tea was placed on his desk. “If you said that in English, they’ll be even more confused, _zhar-ptítsa_. They are interesting characters, _ne_?”

He acknowledged this with a slight bow of his head while continuing to scrutinize his scrying mirror, seeing for himself the rescued girl. He traced the edge of the mirror clockwise once to enlarge her face.

“Hm. Veela. Not pure. Might be half or a quarter; her hair should be white-gold and her skin should be bright as the full moon. And I don’t feel the pull at all.”

“Maybe you don’t feel the pull because you’re married? Or you are not in her direct presence? Or maybe she is still a child?”

“Marriage is not a deterrent for the promiscuous, as Veelas tend to encourage through their dance. Your belief in the strength of the institution though is always inspiring.”

The white-grey haired wizard can just feel his wife’s smile aimed at his head before he felt a nuzzle at his temple. Miya wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed with great affection.

“Their children, pure or not, are beautiful enough to attract anyone, including the attention of the Drudgers – I am certain they are the ones that are hunting her. Trade for their hair or an intact wing in the illegal markets is a lucrative business,” Maksimillian finished softly, curling a gentle finger on a loose lock that escaped his spouse’s informal bun.

Miya sighed despondently. “Such bad business. And in daylight! What more if they moved from the shadows?”

“We are not alone in this, not like during the time of the last World War, nor is it as fumbling as the United Kingdom’s Wizarding War.

All will be well, in due time.”

“ _Ara~!_ Using my words against me, are you?”

“Never, _koibito_. I am merely parroting the words of a very wise witch.”

* * *

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“And here I thought your fan club at the keep is big. Have you checked for any escape routes yet?” chimed a feminine voice in light nonchalance.

If looks could kill, Viktor’s glower would have burnt a new orifice through Mira’s skull. Her outwardly sympathetic appearance can’t mask how absolutely diverted she finds his situation.

“Your amusement in this negates your ‘sympathy’. But I’m working on it.”

Viktor’s bestfriends have been helping him evade the packs of women – and the odd male groups – that were trying to corner him for the past few days in various places. Viktor wouldn’t have minded if he only had to sign a few parchments or any other material, maybe speaking to devoted Quidditch fans about the sport, but when one older wizard tried to convince him to sign his bicep to get permanently tattooed latter on, he had to draw a line.

“Cheer up, Vinko, you’re taking the fun out of this. Remember the original plan?”

“I’d rather hide than pander to their whims. You can have them all if you want,” Viktor said with heavy sarcasm and spite, losing patience.

“You forget, Gosho, not all are feeling innocently of infatuation or admiration.”

“Oh I didn’t, Mimi. But Vinko has the rare opportunity of being able to sense those that _do_ feel those harmless emotions. You know, like fishing well in the dark with perfect night vision? Or hunting a pack of Golden Horns and being able to shoot the one that’s lagging the most?”

The only witch bristled, slapping Georgi hard on his shoulder, and then lecturing him on how he views women and about being sensitive on the Krumov family’s efforts in conservation.

Viktor smiled, silently watching his friends’ usual chatter for a while before he intervened. “Gosho, they can evolve. Those innocent emotions can change for the worst kind. That’s why stalkers exist. And I’m the hunted one.”

A banshee-like shriek of Viktor’s last name made them all freeze in their tracks, right outside the French National Quidditch Stadium.

“How could they be this early? Did they already track your team’s schedule?” Mira mused thoughtfully, looking around to determine the source of the unnatural noise.

“Looks like you need to work on your exit plan sooner than you think. I can hear it now, ‘Oh, Viktor! Let me bear your babies!’” Georgi mocked in a falsetto voice and convincing eye flutter before breaking into low sniggers.

While Viktor completely ignored them by busily looking for a path in the woods that doesn’t seem well travelled, heart pounding on high alert, the still smiling brunette pulled out his wand to drop a Mirage spell to hide the famous member of their group.

“Don’t forget to find us at the food tent at lunch. That’s in less than two hours. Trainer Valkov made us promise to make sure you eat.” They all moved again, more wary of their surroundings, heading nearer to a cluster of trees. Viktor changed his gait to be lighter, steps near silent, masking his presence even further.

“If I could, you guys would be my managers, aside from my nutritionists. Better than Dieter anyway.”

“Oh no. If we’re talking about managing you, Dieter is definitely a better choice. His _precise_ delicacy is just the thing for your schedule. I’m sure he’ll let you have a break for, say, fifteen minutes every four hours,” Mira tittered.

Viktor groaned, remembering the times Dietrich would pour freezing cold water from the school’s great lake over his face to make sure he wakes up at exactly one hour before sunrise – an effort to normalize his body’s rhythm, the German reasoned. Over time, it did force Viktor to sleep earlier, adjust his study sessions, and tweak his training regime. And with his other friends running interference, he found his balance again.

Despite this appreciation for German efficiency, he’s a Plovdivian through and through. He very much subscribes to the _Aylak_ philosophy of doing everything at a relaxed pace, enjoying anything what life could bring him – although not to such an extreme as in Georgi’s case sometimes. He’s just lazy.

The trio suddenly heard another scream of Viktor’s name from their right, coming directly from the fan campsite next to the stadium. A hoard of females was running straight at them.

Miya tilted her head in confusion before doing a double take at Viktor. “Vinko! I can see you! Georgi, I thought you did the spell?!”

“What? I did!” Georgi exclaimed before turning to analyze the opaque form of his best friend. “Wait. Viktor, don’t move.” He tilted his head this way and that, before realizing what’s happening when he moved his eyes to the ground.

“Oh. I see.”

“What, what is it?! I need to get away. Now!” Viktor cried, panicking, ready to bolt to the woods, feeling an overwhelming sense of vulnerability as he can now sense the disturbing emotions from the growing mob. Some, he can discern are confused but wanted to fit in with the crowd and are just along for the run, but the ones in the front…

Viktor shivered in disgust.

“The stadium’s disillusionment charms. I think it’s counteracting my Mirage spell.” Georgi explained with a thoughtful rub of his chin.

Mira piped up after sending a few hexes and defensive shields at their area, adding some smoke to confuse the horde. “Look, Viktor. The shields. You’re right at the border. I think it works two-fold. It keeps the unknowing _muguls_ out, but makes sure nothing magically untoward would come in the stadium grounds – maybe like stalkers that try to sneak into the players’ locker room. I expected something like that but I didn’t think it’s also incorporated in the disillusionment. That’s actually pretty smart.”

“Then again the French are talented in Charms. Both magically and personally,” said Georgi with a suggestive wag of his brows.

“ _Maina!_ You guys, focus please. I’ll meet you two later when it’s safe. I’ll send a message somehow.”

“How?”

“I..well… – bah! I’ll do something. Just be safe you two.”

“Right back at you, Krumov.”

-{-}-

A crunch of leaves, and footsteps.

_Oh no._

The sound of cloth, whipped open to be sat on.

_No. No no no. Please don’t take a seat._

_…and you did._

Great. Just great. He’s stuck for an indefinite amount of time until the person would go away like the rest of them.

He heaved a sigh.

“… _who’s there_?”

He froze, not expecting to be heard from up above his tree.

Remembering he’s still under Georgi’s magic, he tentatively leaned his head forward, to get a better look at the source of the voice, making sure his perch on a branch was stable.

At least it didn’t sound like the shrieks, he reasoned to himself. But the tone of the voice is pitched high enough to let him know that the person was definitely female.

He observed the now standing figure in a pretty dress, something akin to his mother’s when she’s at home: good quality attire but very comfortable. Her hair was up in a high ponytail, with different shades of brown in her hair made apparent under the summer sun. She turned around in a slow circle, arm and hand positioned in a familiar defensive stance.

Come to think of it, she didn’t seem to be part of the pack he evaded a few minutes ago or she would have been actively looking for him; maybe try to draw him out. She looks wary and mistrustful, still in her firm stance.

_But why is she here?_

He spotted a blanket, near the base of the tree, with a basket and a tumbler of something cold, if the moisture on the outside is an indication. Next to it, he can see a stack of books, with one opened to…

Viktor blinked.

Was that a book about Defense against the Dark Arts? She’s a student?

From what he can determine, it’s written in English – which he’s been slowly learning due to his plans of going international.

So she’s not French – but she knows it, recollecting her question. She might have exclaimed it, presuming she’s more likely to encounter a native rather than a foreign speaker like her.

Unless she is a local but is trying to improve her English?

Viktor shook his head, trying to clear up the adrenaline from his run and succeeding climb. Okay, now he’s becoming silly. If those are indeed textbooks that are written in English, then it should follow that she’s from a school that teaches the subject matter in the same language.

So that rules out Beauxbatons.

And the Championship is just a few days away. It’s likely she came here like all the other fans from across Europe, not just the locals, for the game but wanted to have some reading or study in between.

He respects that.

Thinking a little better and gazing back at the entire area, he’s now comprehending the situation in a different light: he’s the one that is the predator: invisible, silent, and lurking in the shadows of the leaves. A woman – girl –wary as a deer, waited for any more movement or sound, trying to pick up any signs that the danger has passed or not.

Viktor’s face flushed in shame. If his mother saw him now before knowing the context, he’ll get skinned alive.

Before he can find an appropriate response or the right opener without giving much away, he froze again when her steely gaze went up and unto his branch, seeming to pick up a difference between his surroundings and his camouflaged self. He can see her back up a few steps before standing her ground, her stance changing into a better defensive one.

He’s impressed but his worry over making a misunderstanding is greater. He was not brought up to disrespect any lady, this includes scaring an innocent one. He cleared his throat.

“ _Please_. _My French is poor._ English is better. Do not…I am no…danger? Source of danger. I am no source of danger. I…will not…harm you.”

“…really now? Then why haven’t you shown yourself?”

He knitted his brows, trying to piece together a coherent sentence before he spoke slowly again.

“Friend, hide me. I’m being followed? Chased. _Da._ I am being chased. By people. Trying to keep safe up here.”

It looked like the wrong thing to say as she further stepped away a few more times and her gazed turned even more rigid and cold. He realized too late that what he said made him sound like a criminal on the run.

Oh the dear irony.

“No! Wrong said. I…it wrong words. I’m still learning language. Please, I no danger to you. I mean, I run from girls. Uuh, foolish girls that do not go away when I say no.”

Viktor’s heart pounded again; unusually anxious for some reason. He waited for a long silent minute before he heard her voice again, softer than before but no less guarded. “Alright then. Let’s say I believe you. I did see a few groups that looked like they’re looking for something. If you answer my questions, I’ll leave and won’t try to hex you where you are.”

Even though he knew she’s bluffing – neither arm has a wand as far as he can see – he admired her courage.

“I try answer my best.”

“Good. First question: from your accent, you’re not French. Are you…East European?”

“Bulgarian.” replied Viktor automatically.

“Oh. I thought Russian. Anyway, second question: what is your purpose here? For…being here? In France. Bulgaria is far away.”

“Yes, country far. For Quidditch. I attend for game.”

“Hm. Sounds about right so far. We are near the stadium. Next question: you’re running from a group of girls. Did you…erm, did you peep on them or something?”

“No! My _maĭka_ will kill my body!” Viktor can feel himself getting redder by the minute after he remembered what the colloquial term meant.

First an escapee, now a lecher.

_The. Absolute. Humiliation._

Georgi and Mira will never let this go as long as he lives if they hear of this.

Which will be _never_.

“Your what?”

“ _A_ , uhm, mama? _Maĭka_ is mama.”

“Your mama…oh! Your mother! She’ll… Okay uhm…

So if you’re considering your mother’s feelings then…okay. Okay I believe you.” She finished awkwardly with a small shrug.

“Is… all right.” Viktor replied weakly, shoulders slouching more at his lost dignity.

The girl now straightened herself and moved closer to his tree, gaze turning more bemused and curious. Her arm is still raised though as a precaution as she took a quick glance at her books in thought.

“Are you still a student? You don’t sound like you’re much older than me but your voice is…deeper, than any of my schoolmates.” Her cheeks turned a charming shade of light rose as she finished her statement.

Viktor straightened his own back, raising his brows at the unintentional compliment.

She likes my voice?

That’s…singular.

Nevertheless, he cleared his throat self-consciously, trying to speak now in a casual tone. “Yes. I still student. But I…”

“Yes?”

“I…play.”

“I don’t understand.”

Viktor furrowed his brows again, becoming just as confused as her.

Aren't his answers enough for her to guess who he is by now?

By the looks of her perplexed expression, maybe not.

He passed a hand over his face before shaking his head again, expression turning stern as he built his resolve.

This is becoming bizarre, Viktor thought. It’s about time he should be the gentleman he’s brought up to be. Besides, it’s only one girl. How much harm can she do?

“I will come down. I show you myself and explain better. I no hurt you.”

Despite his assurances, the younger witch widened her eyes before moving back further into the tree line and going back to her defensive stance.

After letting himself take a moment to reorient, Viktor shook his head in approval of her precaution before nimbly jumping down unto the soft grass. When he stood tall, he took out his wand, still keeping an eye on the still figure before removing the camouflage with a murmur.

When he felt the spell has entirely lifted – Georgi would definitely feel it. It’s how he made it – he stayed still, waiting for the moment when this tense situation will end with a gasp of recognition. Or maybe she’ll be another shrieker – it’s really hard to tell with women.

When all that awaited him was silence, he looked up in befuddlement.

The girl had knitted brows, and a blank expression. “You still didn’t answer my question. What do you mean you play?”

That disarmed him completely. “Quidditch of course!”

“Ooh. You mean you’re one of the players? Why didn’t you just say so?” When all he can do is huff in astonishment, she turned defensive. “Well…! You’re giving me various unrelated information! You said you’re still a student. But you’re being chased by a group of girls. You’re not a peeping tom, nor are you apparently an escaped felon. And my schoolmates play Quidditch too, during their summer break and at school when the our field isn’t booked.”

Viktor’s expression turned exasperated as he felt his shoulders drop again. “I am Quidditch player! Girls chase because they want piece of…well known?” He gestured with his free hand, trying to find a better word.

“Fame?” the girl guessed, with slight realization.

“Fame! Yes, fame. Girls chase because I famous. They want _–_ ,” here Viktor stopped and mimed signing something in the air. “ – that, and maybe…more. Something girl wants from boy.” He finished, feeling his cheeks warm.

The girl finally relaxed her bearing, blinking rapidly with a blank face, arms down at her sides. “Oh.”

“Oh.” Viktor shook his head, sighing in relief.

“I’m, I’m sorry. I don’t normally meet athletes close up so…I didn’t really know what to expect. Especially someone as young looking as you.”

The brunette tilted her head, assessing him –his larger built perhaps? – before she started to edge towards her blanket.

Seeing her skirt around skittishly where he landed made him feel guilty again. He approached slowly and just as cautiously, trying not to spook her any more than she already is.

“Is okay. You no know me. Am…happy you do not? I need not hide from you.”

The girl paused in packing her basket, looking up at him with one raised brow. “Hide from me? Goodness, those girls must be something.”

“ _Da._ Something strange. Foolish. Trying too hard.” Viktor intoned in a deadpan. He unconsciously smiled when he heard her giggle, trying to hide the sound behind the back of her delicate-looking fingers.

When she straightened up with her burden, he recalled his manners. “We good, yes? I introduce self. Be more gentleman.”

She responded with a short titter again. “Late, but alright. I’ll let you redeem yourself.”

He grinned before adopting a more serious demeanor, although his eyes still danced in amusement. He offered his hand and waited.

She looked at it, then his face, before offering hers slowly with the intent to shake hands. When he caught her fingers, he gently guided them to face down before properly bowing low over her hand.

As he straightened, he smiled wider, seeing her blushing with wide eyes. “Viktor Ivanov Krumov. At your service.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: The thing about being dual lingual, or even trilingual (or more), is that you forget the meaning of basic words when helping someone understand, whether it's your native language or improving theirs. There are misunderstandings sure, but if you both are patient enough, you'll get there eventually.
> 
> EDITED: 10/25/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> There is a Russian saying: Bog lubit troitsu (Бог любит Троицу) - 'God loves the Trinity'. It is a lighthearted phrase that basically means that good things come in threes. It can also be applied if something positive happens three times.
> 
> doveryái, no proveryái (оверяй, но проверяй) - literally 'trust, but verify' in Russian. Mr. Lebedev already explained.
> 
> It's not as if you have to drink the sea (Ce n'est pas la mer à boire.) - a saying that means 'it's not that difficult' in French.
> 
> non-magique - French equivalent to 'muggle'
> 
> The cowl doesn't make the monk (L'habit ne fait pas le moine) - French saying that Hermione already explained.
> 
> Better to be alone than accompanied badly (Mieux vaut être seul que mal accompagné) - a French saying that's self explanatory
> 
> dorogoi (дорогой) - term of endearment in Russian. Something like, 'dear / darling'
> 
> zhar-ptitsa (жар-птица) - literally 'firebird' in Russian. Miya Lebedeva's nickname for her husband.
> 
> koibito (恋人) - literally 'lover' in Japanese. Basically a term of endearment.
> 
> mugul (Мъгъл)- 'muggles' in Bulgarian
> 
> Maina (майна) - a Bulgarian filler word that can be used for anything
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	10. Summer 1993: The Discovery

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“Ho. _How charming~_ ,” murmured a mezzo-sopranic voice; a sly smile finding its way across a beguiling face.

Disillusioned and still, blending like an owl against tree bark, an enchanting onlooker watched as a dark-haired adolescent held onto the little Granger’s hand after his introduction, saying something in an accented timbre that made the younger girl visibly bristle, like a _matagot_ kitten being denied fresh chicken. Little Granger tried to put her other hand on her hip – a gesture suggesting she’s getting ready to give a sound refute – but her basket got in the way, almost losing her footing if not for the steady anchor of the boy’s other arm on her shoulder. He merely replied with raised eyebrows, possibly suppressing a smug smile – somewhat patronizing, but not unkind.

The _chaton_ certainly looks fierce when threatened, the observer mused.

A few minutes of silent glaring later, the shorter of the two ‘combatants’ seemed to relent, letting the boy carry her basket with ease and a satisfied smile.

His obvious noble mien lessened the apprehension the watcher felt when she first arrived on the scene. The spell the boy used is better than any charm she has seen by far. He – or rather his friend – might be more talented than she would have expected from someone who did not study at the _Académie_.

Then again, she’s rather biased. Beauxbatons is, and will always be, _the best_.

But it seems I need not worry after all, the observer reflected, looking back at the scene before her with an inaudible hum, a gentler smile gracing her face. Her slender wand arm – previously held out at the ready – was now down and relaxed, her weapon pointed away, harmless. I’ll just tell Elle her British friend will be along in a while~

With an elegant sweep of silver-blonde tresses and swish of her trusty Rosewood, Fleur Delacour twirled in place, stepping quietly around her tree before sashaying away from the little nook at the edge of her family’s mountain property.

It’s a good thing dear _papa_ had discussed the lineup of the match coming up in a fortnight, especially the accolades the youngest member of the visiting team is accumulating – both about his prowess in the air as well as his infamous dislike of ill-mannered behavior from his fans. Else, she wouldn’t have considered leaving the two alone.

Besides, the French witch reasoned, the little Granger needs some well-deserved male attention once in a while. Her family’s needle witch did _wonders_ on the _non-magique_ fabric her little sister had purchased.

-{-}-

Hermione took deep, measured breaths, trying to ease into the equanimity her teacher trained her to employ when she’s in uncertain territory. It served her well in the past, aiding her to decide on using Penelope Clearwater’s hand mirror before she and the older student succumbed to petrification, despite the hammering of her heart when she felt the terrifying sensation of her limbs locking into place and the shadows closing in on her vision instantaneously.

She snapped her eyes open to stare defiantly at the persistent fellow, holding her things hostage because of some misplaced chivalry, while ignoring the warm fluttering in her chest. It’s just her heart racing in anger – that’s all. She’s also disregarding the fact he hasn’t. Let go _._ Of. Her. _Hand_.

It’s not as if it’s unpleasant. It’s actually interesting he has callouses on his palm – not just on his fingers where a quill would rest. How rough the knuckle of his index finger feels – as if he hits it, more than once. How absolutely tiny her hand looks in his grasp – but how gently he cradles it. How much it tickles when his thumb moved over her skin –

She blinked and furrowed her brow. She’s getting distracted…which might be his aim all along!

Or – the more likely reason – he’s trying to intimidate her.

She can see how much he’s scrutinizing her, gaze travelling all over her face and hair – Gabrielle certainly enjoyed taming it into submission – , her wandless fist, her uncomfortably tight-fitting dress, and white-woven summer flats, all with a polite smile on his face.

Ever since the Quirrell, and Lockhart ‘incidents’, she’s been reluctant to put faith in anyone’s first impression – or even second impression – anymore until she gets all the facts straight. And Hermione may not be as boy crazy as the other girls in her dormitory, she knows enough from her observations in muggle primary school and at Hogwarts what a typical male would do when they’re attracted to someone – scaring her half to death and staring at her with laser-like focus does not classify as ‘attracted’.

Take Percy for example. Although neither Ginny nor herself have personally seen what Percy did in order to convince Clearwater to be his girlfriend, the noise from the common room grape vine supplied he just asked her over their shared triumph in a group assignment – notwithstanding Hermione’s notion of dating which she always thought required delicacy – and the rest, is history.

From what Ginny gossiped – during the times when she’s lucid and not under the influence of that confounding diary – there was a glaring casualness about the third eldest Weasley’s way of dating Clearwater: walking together in the hallways while talking – or should she say patrolling since they’re Prefects? – , friendly bets over who’d win the Inter-House Quidditch Cup – honestly, where would Percy get the Galleons if Gryffindor lost? – , and maintaining professional distance during breaks at the Great Hall – they’re model students after all, how could she expect anything less?

When the time came for those in the hospital wing were ‘woken’ up, Percy was one of the first to scramble towards the Ravenclaw student’s bed and hugged her fiercely, being sweet about his relief of her recovery and beamed with uninhibited affection, which almost cost him his badge if not for Professor McGonagall’s intervention against Professor Snape’s withering censure.

All in all, Hermione is certain holding hands for this long at first meeting isn’t a common occurrence between non-couples or acquaintances – if she could even call this stranger that. He did present his name already after all.

Furthermore, from what she could pick up in rubbish dramas on the telly – she really has to curb her morbid curiosity for those things – there isn’t any need for a great show of formality in relationships anymore. With how fast-paced everything has become, complicated forms of niceties are considered outdated; positively archaic…

Maybe she should’ve skipped reading those Austen books to past the time.

To be fair, her parents’ decision to bring her up with proper manners did help suppress some of her impulsive tendencies. There were instances, several in fact, during primary where she gave into the temptation to dish out her bullies with their comeuppance – especially when she discovered her magic – at a much earlier age than her parents thought.

She still felt guilty over it, but not guilty enough to regret them.

Her wrist started to itch, but the hand holding hers helped her resist rubbing at it.

In other times, whenever she feels the need to retaliate fire with fire, her dad’s calming, reasonable voice would always pop up in her head:

_A person may be judged according to her behavior towards other people, buttercup. Choose your own response, because yours is the only one you have any control over. Never stoop to their level, honey. Be better._

So now she dowsed the great urge to just snatch her hand back from the – surprisingly comfortable – hold it’s in and balled up her other hand tighter, waiting for the teenager to speak as she thought more on her situation.

Maybe this is one of those odd, cultural differences? Are Bulgarians more physical with their greetings?

When Hermione’s attention turned back up to this…Mr. Krumov – honestly, why is he so frustratingly tall? As if his overall size isn’t intimidating enough – he snapped his head up and looked over her head, furrowing dark brows to focus on something at a distance, making her curious enough to look over her shoulder – unconsciously careful to keep her hand from being displaced.

Aside from the rustle of trees and quiet bird calls, there was no one in sight – unless the person was in an invisibility cloak. Very unlikely, she’s sure – she turned back at the same time he did and was surprised to be the recipient of the tall boy’s awestruck expression, vaguely aware that he dropped her basket none too gently in the process.

When he still hadn’t stopped studying her face with bright, wide eyes, as if she was a prized work of art, Hermione finally drew her hand back, and self-consciously rub her left wrist. She turned her head away, trying to cover up the warm color on her face, internally cursing at the fact that her hair was wrangled up effectively by her tenacious new friend.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed the teenager made a fist of his hand – that seem to reach out for hers as she retreated – before he reconsidered and grasp around the handle of her forgotten basket instead. His other hand moved to search around the surface of the wickerwork. “I am sorry. Hope, nothing broke?” he asked sheepishly, rotating the basket to check for any dents or scrapes while carefully avoiding her gaze.

Blush receding, Hermione raised a muddled brow. Teenage boys are so…strange. I wonder if Harry and Ron will turn like this, she pondered.

After a quick scan, Hermione shook her head. “No. I put a charm on it. See the shimmer on the top? The impact of a drop is cushioned if it’s closed properly.”

He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Like brooms. The, how you say – creators? The one that, make brooms? It standard to put soft, not-visible pad. For rider comfort. Also to cush-ion.”

“You mean broom manufacturers?” Hermione guessed with a tilt of her head. “Yes, I remember now. The Cushioning Charm, created by a Mr. Smethwyck around the 1800s. As a player, it’s practical to consider your comfort as you fly around for long periods of time,” she concluded with a nod.

The young wizard’s anxious expression turned curiously relieved, smiling tentatively. “You like brooms?”

Hermione shook her head emphatically. “Merlin, no! We had mandatory broom lessons in our first year. Not an experience I’d wish to repeat.”

This made him pause. “How you know if you no like?”

“I read about it for class. I retain what I read, even for just the sake of knowing.” She shrugged.

He tilted his head, weighing her basket for emphasis. “You like reading many books then? Like how you bring many now?”

Hermione raised a sardonic eyebrow, hearing a condescending lilt to his tone. Here we go. “Why not? They are a good source of information.” She should have known he’d be like the rest of the boys, head full of Quidditch and ungrateful for all the knowledge you could get in written form – his initial appeal, his rolling Rs and gentlemanly greeting aside. She would have started a tirade on her precious tomes if not for the tiny twitches at the corner of his lips and laughing eyes.

She spun her body completely back to him, arms akimbo, and a confused frown on her lips. “You’re so…! I don’t understand why you’ve been altering between several different emotions since we’ve ‘met’,” she air quoted.

“I am not understanding yours too.” He said excitedly, with a more pronounced smile.

Hermione rubbed fingers on her temple, getting fed up and feeling a headache coming on, understanding now how their Potions Master feels when faced with ineptitude. She shook her head and marched forward, disregarding caution, holding out her hand with her palm up. “That’s it. Give me back the basket. I’m going to hold my end of the bargain and leave you be, since you already answered my questions.”

He smile dropped immediately, face looking unusually alarmed. He quickly held out his unoccupied hand and held onto her basket with the other closer to his chest. “Please! I only try to…not make you scared. By…joking? Play…teasing. Yes, I tease you.”

“So you’d rather make me mad instead?” Hermione said dryly.

“ _Ee...Ne_. No. I do not mean to do that.” He answered faintly.

After a time of looking at her face, her hand, and her basket, he heaved a dejected sigh, broad shoulders slumping with her basket now dangling off his fingertips. “If…if you need go, I not keep you. I am sorry to trouble you.”

A small part of Hermione twinged in guilt, feeling like she kicked baby Norbert – a dangerous creature it may be but it’s never a good feeling to downtrodden an innocent. His downturned eyes had her rubbing her face with both hands, groaning noiselessly into them.

_If you are patient in one moment of anger, you will escape a hundred days of sorrow._

Mrs. Lebedeva has definitely become her voice of reason.

Drawing a cleansing breath, she straightened herself and continued forward, bypassing the handle the young athlete was offering, and went to open the top instead, pulling out her blanket again. She went through the motions of laying it down as flat and neat as possible under her tree.

Hermione can feel intense eyes staring at the back of her head as she worked. She then took a comfortable seat, pulling her legs underneath her daintily while adjusting the ends of her dress. She looked up and stared back at too dark eyes before she gestured with her chin at a spot at the edge of the blanket, as both a call for truce and an invitation. “We would have gone nowhere if we left things off on the wrong foot, Mr. Krumov. I had hoped that my judge of character would be far better now than a few years ago. You don’t really seem like a bad person so…have a seat. Please.”

-{-}-

Viktor shook his head, trying to clear the haze over his mind since his introduction to the enigmatic enchantress, and walked with stiff movements on the indicated spot, attempting to seem calm when he is definitely _not_.

Ever since he comprehended he has found his _Custodia_ in the least likely place, and at such an earlier stage in his life than he expected, he has trouble thinking straight, completely forgetting Georgi’s long winded suggestions if he ever came across her someday.

This feeling within him is simply indescribable, liberating even, as he’s _not_ bombarded with any emotions at all from the fierce girl, who held her head up with subtle authority yet with less animosity against him – he cannot blame her; his dazed thoughts had sadly not helped him make a good first, or rather second, impression.

And yet…she has granted him a third chance to make amends – which proves she possesses a compassionate heart.

He must have been an upstanding creature in his past life to be this fortunate – never mind his privileged upbringing, having really good friends, achieving good marks at school, and now his fame for various feats in the air for his team and country. All he can think of now is the tingling remnants of the ghostly heat in his hand and the various stories past down in his family when meeting with the one that is said to be his rock, his stability, his strength in life.

And if he’s really really _really_ fortunate in this life – his _home_.

But looking at the lovely vision in front of him, with bronze eyes, wary yet patient, he can feel doubt churning uncomfortably in his stomach, becoming insecure of himself for the first time in his life.

It’s true many have found him ordinary-looking compared to other distinguished sportsmen – avoiding the cameras quite successfully as a reserve player has been pivotal to this. But what he lacks in the much complimented boy-band style of today – he would have been mystified by this if not for Mimi’s and Gosho’s running commentary on the other young and not so young male players – he compensates with his growing musculature and improving skill in the field.

He’s been doing so well that he’s being considered to be transferred to the main roster permanently – and not as a last resort, like when their main Seeker could not survive the last set a month ago – , which will accelerate his chances of being chosen over for the national team. Good thing Trainer Valkov and Captain Vulchanov have been one of his biggest supporters in this endeavor, so there’s not much hostility coming from his own team about this, not even from the main Seeker herself.

He’ll have to remember to send out an express falcon deliver a few choice herbs from the conservatory to speed up her recovery.

However, this brings to mind a tricky situation: should he still continue this occupation when the very being he’s been searching for is already here? When the reason he went through all the trouble of fame and fortune which he doesn’t really want nor need is standing at attention with a perplexed expression on her lovely face?

…he’s gotten it bad too quickly, hasn’t he?

According to old scriptures and oral stories, a connection such as theirs – if officially proven – is not unlike what _muguls_ would assume as mated souls: two halves from a whole, forever apart and wandering the earthly plane, condemned by the gods to an existence where their power as man will not upset the balance and harmony of the cosmos.

In the wizarding world though, it’s not so clean cut and easily explained. The closest he could understand from the almost illegible jottings is that the relationship of the _motus custodia_ with his or her _tragicus_ can be as enemies – the worst kind of connection – , as supportive friends – whether they’re aware of it or not – , as passing lovers – most of the time, star-crossed – , or the most ideal one: as a bonded pair with mutual interest in each other.

What contradicts the concept of soulmates though is the fact that the _tragicus_ is at the mercy of the _custodia_. Never an equal, like the Ancient Greeks had supposed.

There have been conflicting accounts of this phenomenon. Some, unverified, that imply abuses and slavery, tragedy and calamity. But there were a small percentage of them ending happily and prosperously, not only to the pair but to the society they dwell in.

This could be his hormones talking as well as his idealistic outlook but he very much would like to please this new person enough to get to that favorable ‘ever after’.

…he needs to stop listening to Georgi whenever he quotes from those romance novels and ‘fairy’ tales. He’s starting to build an unrealistic standard for his _custodia_ – if she is the one.

But first and foremost, he has to get her _name_.

“If it okay, call me Viktor. Mr. Krumov is my father,” he said, hoping to sound confident.

“Veec – Viktor? Doesn’t that mean ‘the victorious one’?”

“I hope so. It will be useful for match to have such significance, I am thinking. And you? May I know your name?”

“Oh! How rude of me. I completely forgot myself. My name is Hermione Jean Granger. Pleasure to meet you.

I guess…I guess if it’s difficult to say, you can call me Jean. Or Granger. I don’t mind,” she said quickly, but with a slight cringe, cueing him otherwise.

“Hermione is beautiful name. I call you that. Please.”

She seems to look mildly impressed. “That’s…that’s actually amazing that you’ve got it on the first try. Not many people do.”

Viktor can feel his smile becoming more natural, proud to know that he is exceptional in her eyes. “Bulgaria is next to Greece. My home city has many influences from Greek culture, especially the – stories? Legend? It has ‘Mm” sound in the word. ”

“Mythology?”

“That. Mythology. Hermione is born Spartan child, yes? Female child of royalty.”

“Daughter. And yes, my parents would joke I have a similar situation with that princess.”

Similar…situation? Is she already betrothed?!

“Many…suitors for your hand then?” he inquired indifferently, masking his apprehension the best he can by playing with the handle of her basket.

The younger witch startled herself with a short laugh, a becoming hue of light rose appearing on the apple of her cheeks. “That’s one way of interpreting it. I meant the part where trouble always follows me in my wake.”

Oh.

Wait…!

Viktor furrowed his brows. “I do not understand.”

“Mmm. I can imagine you don’t. It might be too long of a story. And since you don’t seem to be in danger from the ‘strange’ girls chasing you anymore, I’m surprised you’re willing to chat.”

“Trying to make me go away now? Am I bad company to be friend?” he teased lightly.

Hermione jerked her head back. “You…want to be friends?”

“Why not? I feel…safe, around you. You no crazy girl,” he explained, trying not to spill all he wanted to say in an uncontrollable word vomit. He knows not to scare another person with too much familiarity, especially at first meeting – ignoring the fact he has already done so with the prolonged hand holding.

Her hand fit so well in his.

“…oh.”

She looked put-out; disappointed.

Viktor watched as she shrugged her shoulders after a moment, with a smile not reaching her eyes, and demeanor turning guarded once again. She picked herself up and gestured she’s going to pick up her blanket.

What did I just say?!

Instead of protesting out loud, Viktor also stood up and took out his wand from his arm holster, flicked it once, and the blanket folded in on itself until it fit snuggly in her basket.

He glanced up and felt perplexed by her rapt attention in between his wand and her basket. “That’s very useful. Was that wordless magic?”

He wondered at her change in topic but he shook his head in affirmative. “ _Da._ I mean yes. Mama taught me so it’s easy to pack for family outing.”

Hermione tilted her head before concluding, “I see. You shake your head when saying yes, and nod when saying no?”

He blinked. “Yes. In Bulgaria we do this.”

The pretty witch nodded, seeming to be distracted by her thoughts. “I see. I keep mixing what your actions are telling me with what you’re saying.

So…you’re sure you want to be friends? I’m not…really a fan of Quidditch but I do cheer for my best friend, who’s a player at school. And my family and I are only attending the upcoming match because we were invited and my father wanted to see how the wizarding sport differs from rugby, which is the closest equivalent of it on the ground.”

He has so many questions.

Why did she looked disappointed? Did I imply I _only_ want to be friends? Better remedy that.

Which school? Is it within Europe? _Eurasia_? Does he need to cross the Pacific to reach her? She isn’t as brash as Americans so, hopefully not.

Not a fan? That explains a few things. But he’s more curious of her aversion to brooms. And, _wizarding_ sport? Why the emphasis? Is she…not wholly magical? That doesn’t really matter but, maybe she needs reassurance?

Family? Father? Should he introduce himself soon or would that be too forward?

Rag-bee? Equivalent to Quidditch? He can only think of Quodpot in North America – which has more violent play than Quidditch will ever have. Honestly, why would anyone want to risk their equipment exploding in their face? And what sport is played on the ground? That doesn’t seem like a challenge.

Viktor contained all his rushing thoughts and just said, “Of course! I happy to be a friend. People have right to their own interests. Different is good. If you go to match, watch me and cheer for team. As new friend, I can supply gooder seats –“

“ – better.”

“ – better seats for you and family. It’s no trouble.”

“No no. I think we’re alright. The Delacours said they reserved good seats; almost level to the…Ministry Box I think?”

“ _A_. Yes, good seats. Name of friends sound French. They support home team then. Are you required to cheer?”

“Well, like I said, I’m not really that invested in the game, nor are my parents, no matter how grateful we are for the tickets. We’ll be neutral and most probably just cheer in spirit.”

“Hmm. I convince you another day. No such thing as too much support.”

The little witch smiled shyly, making his pulse jump. “You want to meet again?”

“Very much, yes.” Did he sound desperate just now?

“I…I guess I don’t mind. I have questions myself if it’s alright.”

“It is, how you say, getting know? Be better friends after.” And maybe more than friends? Soon?

She smiled wider with a bright twinkle in her eyes, body language finally turning relaxed and pliant – he felt so at peace with the state of the cosmos now.

“I spend my time in this place – it’s part of the Delacour property by the way –. I’ll ask permission first if it’s alright to use it again and maybe meet…here? Before lunch again?

By the way, the stadium is northwest of here so try to do a circuit in case there are still any ‘predators’ prowling around for you.” She giggled adorably.

Viktor straightened his back, surprised that he’s gone farther from the stadium than he thought. “ _Maina_! I am trespasser? I am sorry. I will leave now. It is lunch time, so we eat.”

Hermione nodded in agreement. “I need to go back to the cabin. Good bye, Viktor. Best of luck on the way back and…and on the match.”

Viktor can only watch as the little witch smiled quickly before turning with her basket in hand and floated away, soft steps crunching the grass almost silently.

He has a lot of planning to do, he mused, as he beamed wide at the bird that sang suddenly up on ‘their’ tree.

And send more letters in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I may have had projected a few things here and there from real life, especially from the more romantic viewpoint of my SO towards our relationship. Plus, I was over the moon when he got to visit me. (edited some scenes and adjusted the dialogue)
> 
> I can just picture Viktor to be as internally biased as him xP ( I hope that didn't bother anyone.)
> 
> EDIT: 10/27/2020 Requested Translation / Explanation:
> 
> matagot - according to oral traditions of southern France, it is generally evil, but some may prove helpful, like the "magician cat" said to bring wealth into a home if it is well fed.
> 
> chaton - 'kitten' in French
> 
> non-magique - French equivalent to 'muggle'
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	11. Summer 1993: The Impartiality

_Cabine Royale, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“Hé! _There you are, my dear._ _Come, come. You’re just in time._ Apolline _is extremely excited to unveil her masterpiece!_ ”

The jovial call woke Hermione from her daydreaming, visions of dark eyes, tanned skin, and a shy boyish smile disappearing with a firm shake of her head.

Her feet had unconsciously led her to a quaint yet whimsical brick and stone retreat, with multiple half-moon windows added on in later years of its creation. Monsieur Delacour was waving widely from a small balcony, beckoning her merrily like a Father Christmas in front of a shopping centre.

Hermione smiled. She remembered meeting the wonderfully warm wizard a week ago, when they arrived at an inn in _Place Cachée._ She had been thoroughly amazed to discover he was more…ordinary-looking than she would have thought he’d be, a great contrast to the little witch walking next to her, still looking sweetly fairy-like even in borrowed clothes. But it all made better sense when they caught a glimpse of his wife’s splendor as she glided quickly to her daughter. The blonde witch was, for lack of a better word, radiantly beautiful; skin glowing against simple yet elegant robes, hair a lustrous white-gold, and face sparkling with happiness as she expressed deep relief of Gabrielle’s safe return.

But when the older woman turned to them and approached with intent, her dad hid instinctively behind mother, suddenly wary with the change in the air around them. Nearby male patrons were giving them mixed looks of jealousy and longing, especially when the _madame_ gave them all swift cheek kisses in gratitude, with intense glares aimed specifically at dad. He looked especially sheepish when he peeked at his wife, as if in apology, but her mother quickly assured him with a soft pat on the cheek and a comforting touch on his arm.

They realized immediately the gravity of the situation, understanding better why Gabrielle had been reluctant to tell them about her heritage on her second night with them in _Dijon_.

At that time, Gabrielle had been tampering on a few of the stitches and buttons of her borrowed jumper. “ _Can I improve this?_ ” she stated, more than asked, ignoring Hermione’s raised brows. “ _A little sparkle here, maybe turning some areas silk – oh! What do you think about charmeuse, ‘Ermione? Or would you like jacquard better? I can take a look at your other...‘garments’…as well. It will be fun!”_

Exercising a bit of her growing patience, Hermione had politely, yet vehemently, opposed any magical alterations, citing they were still in the _non-magique_ side of France. They didn’t want her to risk using underage magic and get them in all sorts of trouble with whatever magical authority there was in the country.

A small part of Hermione that wasn’t quite as sensible as the rest of her thought otherwise. If they let the younger girl do a bit of magic, ideally somewhere remote, it might make things easier for them to locate officials working in the French Ministry. No doubt they’d track the magic and hopefully assist them.

As if reading into her musings, Gabrielle shattered the notion with a succinct head shake, just as her parents came into their shared room bringing dinner. If she did any underage magic intentionally, Gabrielle clarified, in front of them – the Granger couple is not only _non-magique_ but _foreign_ as well – she would have a record of negligence in their Ministry, which might send her to a supervised re-education facility for correction.

Re-education _…? Correction…?_

“ _It’s not as bad as it sounds,”_ Gabrielle amended, flinching after seeing their horrified expressions, “ _I heard it’s a good program. It prevents witches my age and big sister’s age from being sent to a prison with adult criminals instead. They say it tries to educate us to do better – or so they say. It is different from what was done in the past. Before, there were many tests to determine if we’re ‘well-balanced’ enough to be ‘let out’ of the camp to ‘function properly as good citizens’_ ,” she punctuated each air quote with a lazy eye roll, before turning her attention to the food. She spotted her requested dish with a delighted hum.

Hermione and her parents just stared, wide eyed; disbelieving that an eight year old would know this much of their country’s judicial system.

And a camp? A _summer camp_ -camp or… _world war camp_ -camp…?

After taking a satisfied mouthful of her _bouillabaisse_ , Gabrielle looked up at the feel of their baffled gazes. She huffed daintily. “ _I have to know these things,_ ” she said defensively, acting as if this is a debate she commonly fought about. “ _Although we are not_ non-magique, _it does not mean we do not get discriminated._ _Grandmother_ _would always say, ‘knowledge is power’. And in order to survive in this world, we must know how it works, and then, work around it._ ”

Hermione recalled her mother’s face scrunching up in worry at the mature words, approaching the little blonde quickly and knelt down in front of her, smoothing back her silky hair, like how you would appease the fur of a prickly kitten. “ _Your family brought you up very well for you to know these things. You’re so very smart, little one. We’re not judging you for that._

_But…do I need to be worried? Sweetheart, are you telling us that we should be concerned about something?”_

Her mother spoke softly, delicately, but the ‘concerned about you’ was implied strongly enough that Gabrielle’s face turned pale. The little witch embraced the older woman, crying out to Hermione at the same time. “ _No! I owe you my life. My family will know this. They will defend and protect you, as honor dictates. You need never have to worry. Never from me. Never from us…!_ ”

“… _but_ ,” she added after a long beat, slumping her shoulders, moving back slowly. Her head was down, and fingers tightening on the arms still wrapped around her small form. “ _I am – I am not entirely…human. Witch, yes but…”_

Gabrielle took a deep breath. “ _What I am saying is…you have the right to know. You_ should _know. What I am. Why I was chased. Why the Drudgers would hunt me like – like you saw._ ” Her voice pitched high, cracking at the end, like a gramophone’s stylus skipping the groves of a record. Her mother continued to patiently regard the little blonde, soothing the younger girl’s back while using her other hand to wipe at her smooth cheeks. Hermione on the other hand remained quiet, stilling the various conclusions whirling in her head, and sat herself down on a bed. She took the cup of tea her dad prepared, and snuggled close to his side as he sat next to her.

“ _I am Veela_ ,” Gabrielle confessed, eyes down, and voice low. She waited as if anticipating the arms around her to pull away. She waited as if dreading the distinct sounds of dismay; of disgust. She waited, as if they’d turn her away...

_Just like the rest._

But what the Grangers did was simply stare blankly, unsure how to react to such a grave-sounding answer. “ _Uhh…is that a type of magical nationality we know not of?_ ” asked her dad after a beat, scratching at his head and looking terribly lost. Hermione did her best to restrain from elbowing his side, a conditioned knee-jerk reaction to any shenanigans since last year. Whenever a question went over her best friends' heads, it's likely they’re not paying attention. So she'll _get_ their attention this way to guide them back to earth.

For now, she settled for an exasperated glare instead. Her dad completely ignored this and rewarded her with a pat on the head.

“ _You do not know?_ ” Gabrielle verified, looking bewildered. “ _You do not study this?_ ” She turned surprised eyes at her. Hermione shook her head, wild locks entangling on the arm wrapped around her in the process. “ _Not familiar. Not read in books. Not talked in class._ ”

Comprehension dawned on the little witch’s face, relaxing completely in the arms wrapped around her and thoughtfully eyeing their curious faces. “ _Veelas are magical beings. They’re like those…I think you call them mermaids in your legends. But unlike the sea ladies, veelas do not sing when they attract humans – they dance. They have legs, not fins. Veelas like to be in lakes and rivers, not the great seas. Grandmother lives near her favorite lake._ ”

“ _That sounds lovely. Is your grandmother a pure veela? You look pretty to be one yourself._ ” commented her mother, squeezing her shoulders affectionately.

Gabrielle smiled wide. If she had feathers, she'd puff them up at the praise. “ _Yes. Grandmother is the most beautiful of all. In her time, at least,_ ” she ended with a giggle.

“I don’t understand, Dia. What does being something a little extra have anything to do with the people after her?” asked her dad in English, trying to articulate his thoughts better.

Apparently that has everything to do with it. According to Gabrielle, the white golden hair from a pure veela’s head can be used as a core in wand crafting – despite the magic being very temperamental if not taken care of properly, like putting good polish on the wood that houses it – and the scales from their wings that burst from their bodies when enraged can be used in rare and powerful potions. One such mixture induces powerful hallucinations that could last for years, often tempting the drinker to end their life as they seek to be with their loved ones that have previously passed away.

“On n’aime que ce qu’on ne possède pas tout entier,” said Gabrielle solemnly, shaking her head.

“What does that mean?” Her dad asked in a whisper, vaguely aware the quote sounded familiar.

“'We love what we do not wholly possess.' Proust. French author. He had a compelling work,” she murmured back, understanding the quote in a new light.

Although those traits have been diluted with the introduction of human genes, some crafty wizards in the black market have formulated a way to extract some use to their hair and blood, making weaker hallucinogenic potions that will last for a few days instead – that is, if they got ahold of many bodies to extract from.

Gabrielle couldn’t say any more than that – to the relief of the Grangers – since her own mother refused to describe what happened to the other part-veelas in abroad who were at the wrong place and at the worst time, saying it’s too graphic to be explained to someone as young as her, no matter the lady witch’s wish for Gabrielle to remain alert of her surroundings by being made aware.

Hermione was roused from her memory by the various smells of cooked cheeses, pastries, and baked vegetables wafting through the glassless windows of the ‘cabin’. Spurred on by her grumbling stomach, and Monsieur Delacour’s excitement over his wife’s latest cooking creation, she ran the rest of the way, up to where he was waiting for her in front of the entrance. He welcomed her with an arm around her shoulder as he escorted her inside.

“ _My little_ Ella _has been pouting inside like a babe that lost its blankie_. _You gave her quite the slip you know,_ ” He chuckled.

Hermione frowned guiltily, turning worried eyes up to kind ones. “ _I not mean to run from her, Monsieur. I was just exploring grounds after she made me wear…all of this._ ” She said, gesturing to herself. “ _I not think I was out there long,_ ” she added with a hint of a blush, batting away the tingling from her hand behind her basket.

He laughed outright. “ _Escaped being one of her models, have you? That’s all right, my dear. You’re one of the few she’s chosen to be friends with – or rather that’s you that chose her, no? Instead of asking for the life debt?”_ He clasped her shoulder affectionately. _“Have I told you that I’m very grateful you did? She’s entirely too young to swear herself to anyone. And call me Lucien, you keep forgetting. And you do not scorn her for being not entirely human; such good souls you all are. But! It’s good that little Elle gets denied of what she wants every now and then. It build s character.”_

“ _My parents say something the same. I do not know if I will say it right: ‘you do not get what you…wish for? You get what you work for.’”_

“ _Well said, well said. That’s very good. You’ll be speaking just like a local, just you wait!”_

“ _That’s very kind, Monsieur D – Lucien_.” Hermione corrected, with a smile. The older wizard beamed.

As they entered the space of the dining area, light filtered in pleasantly through the leaves of the ivy crawling freely over the greenhouse-like frame of the room – with splashes of Iris and lpurple Lilies among the refreshing greens. They were welcomed by the enchanting sight of Madame Delacour levitating a big plate of _salade niçoise_ at the center of an already abundant table, with her parents innocently seated facing the _tarte aux fraises, tarte aux abricots_ , and _cherry clafoutis_ , which are displayed decadently in silverware, and elegantly smattered with powdered sugar on top.

For dentists, they have such a big sweet tooth, Hermione mused with a hidden smile. The Nutcracker is certainly one ballet production that she grew up appreciating with them.

“ _How was your walk,_ 'Ermione~? _Seen anything…special~?_ ” asked a light voice from the other side of the table. “ _I assured_ Ella _you will be just fine in our property but she has been very worried.”_

The speaker was none other than Fleur Isabelle, with features that are almost an exact replica of her younger sister’s, with the charm and grace of their mother. But unlike the direct and assertive Gabrielle, the eldest daughter was slyer than a fox in a hen house – if the mischievous, knowing twinkle in her eyes was anything to go by.

Hermione narrowed her gaze in suspicion.

_What does she_ _know_?

Being around the Weasley twins for the past two years made her develop a sixth sense for mischief makers and trouble magnets. Being female, Fleur is more subtle in her dealings, no matter how much goodness she meant to do – if goodness was actually her aim.

Better beat her to it before she gets misunderstood again, Hermione considered with a small frown. She remembered the time when a male classmate of Fleur’s was given the wrong impression that Hermione liked him as quick as a lightning strike – if she remembers her idiom correctly.

After the Delacours insisted her family join them at their summer cabin, Fleur volunteered to show Hermione around _Place Cachée_ to shop for souvenirs. They won’t be able to come back to the French wizarding street again since the Grangers planned to go home after the European Championship. The owl carrying her school list managed to find them and they’re eager to collect her things as soon as possible so she’ll have time to have her lessons with Mrs. Lebedeva before the start of her third year.

Hermione was eager for the shopping this time since she planned to add to her growing collection of references at home, and cross reference them with Mrs. Lebedeva in case they might lack a competent teacher again in the coming year – best be prepared for any mishaps, she concluded, foreign or otherwise.

As Fleur bumped into one of her schoolmates from Beauxbatons during their walk and started a merry chat, Hermione engrossed herself on reading the plaque about the large, bioluminescent moths in a nearby menagerie, wanting to give them time to catch up – as old friends would tend to do. She turned her attention back to the conversation after hearing a distinct clearing of a throat. The smarmy chap began chatting it up with her, misunderstanding her stilted French with nervousness at being given attention by an admirer. It didn’t help that Fleur seem to be encouraging the exchange, fluttering in the background with a deceptively demure smile – and that same twinkle in her eyes. After almost twenty minutes straight of shallow babbling, Hermione finally put her foot down, and soundly negated his great opinion of himself, suppressing the urge to say his similarities to a recently amnestic professor.

“ _Actually, now that you mention it_ ,” said Hermione nonchalantly, making a point to address her parents directly. “I met someone hiding up in the tree I was reading under. Strange fellow. But…nice, I guess. He gave me a good scare at first since he’s so quiet and I noticed he’s using some sort of spell to camouflage himself among the leaves. I must’ve scared him back since he’s surprised I found him.

I helped him past the time chatting while he’s hiding from some fangirls of his – I never really thought an athlete wouldn’t like that kind of attention. You learn something new every day,” she finished succinctly, stuffing her mouth with leafy greens with as much grace as possible, hoping her parents would get the point to leave the topic be.

“Another rescue? All in a day’s work in the life of a Granger,” piped in her dad after taking a gracious spoonful from his soup, and pulling at her ponytail. “But did I hear right? You met a bloke?” he said with raised brows.

“Ooh~ Is he cute too?” inquired her mother with a big smile, thanking Fleur for an offered bread.

“Muuum.” Hermione rolled her eyes heavenward, forgetting her mother was present at the French boy debacle.

“What’s his name? And did you mean he’s athletic-looking or an actual athlete? How did you know he is one?”

Now Hermione understands where she got her curiosity from.

“Well… he’s…tall. With a built similar to those rugger players dad is in love with on the telly –

“Buttercup, you’re misinformed. I admire their strategic – “

“ – you sound like you are more in love with them than me on winning nights, Will,” chirped her mother in good humor while addling some soup for herself and Hermione.

“ – _but_ he seems as old as maybe Percy or the twins, judging from his face and voice. He claims he’s an athlete that’s going to play in the match this coming – ”

“ – Ho! A quidditch player?! What a treat! Was it Lacroix? Mallard? I think they’re going to become part of the nationals this year,” interjected Monsieur Delacour with a satisfied sip from his goblet, addressing his last statement to a fairly intrigued Mr. Granger.

“ _What is going on? Why are they talking in English?_ ” huffed Gabrielle, taking the portions of salad she preferred from Fleur’s offered plate.

“ _And that is why it is important you learn it too, no? The Grangers can express themselves better in their language. Like how we are with ours. But you’re not missing much; your new friend is sharing an interesting tidbit of news. I will tell later_ ,” tittered Madame Delacour while comforting her youngest with a kiss to her temple.

“He’s not French, Monsieur Lucien. He said he’s Bulgarian. His accent sounds similar to Mr. Lebedev’s whenever he’s talking with his associates over the phone.” Hermione said, taking a big gulp of water to wash away the heat that’s rising up her neck. Her mother hummed melodically, strangely looking at her with an intrigued gaze.

“With a what? Fown? What’s that? Ah yes, the Eastern Europeans have that rolling ‘r’ of theirs. Quite intimidating. The Snipes are here already? Quite the underdogs but they’ve been pulling through. It’ll be a sight to see, definitely!” Monsieur Lucien cheered in rapid succession, enthusiastically cutting into the leaves of his salad.

“Er…it’s a _non-magique_ …fast mail? But using his voice?” Hermione swears she’s going to propose some sort of integration program for magical and non-magical relations someday. Even language learning is becoming easier with more accessible references. So knowledge about muggles – especially the sciences and technology bits – should be more available to the wizarding public. “And I guess? He didn’t say the name of his team but I guess that’s who is opposing the... er, home team in two weeks?”

“Fascinating! What is the bird this Monsieur Lebedev is usi – ”

“ _My light, you’re digressing_ ,” interrupted Madame Delacour gently, shaking her head at her husband. “So we have established that’s he’s part of the visiting team and young, correct? Darling, what is the name of this young man? He has told you, has he not~? More bread~?”

Thinking quickly, she’s going to claim ignorance. “Thank you. He said his name was Viktor Kroo something.”

Very smooth, Hermione. Very smooth.

“Viktor Krumov?!” cried Monsieur Lucien, apologizing afterwards for the involuntary water spatter. “Of course, of course. Young man and probably still studying yes?” Hermione did a pause before nodding. “He’s considered a prodigy Seeker _, that one. Such skill in the sky has never been seen for such a long time._ A genius sportsman in the making! _”_

“ _Darling, this is what I meant about being comfortable in your own language. Look, your papa is reverting back.”_

“ _Yes, mama,”_ muttered Gabrielle, getting a big slice of a nearby tart. Are they talking about a bird now? She pouted.

“Well, he didn't imply _how_ popular he is. Just said he's running away from fans. A seeker is – they’re the ones that end the game when they catch the…the yellow ball, right?”

“ _The Golden Snitch~_ ” corrected Fleur. “ _In a way, it is the most glamorous and most dangerous position in the team. They get the most fouls because the other team’s players do their best to take them down. If the Seeker is able to catch the winning Snitch, they are celebrated the most, and get all the attention from the crowd,_ ” She finished with a flourish of her arm for effect, levitating a piece of tart to her plate in the process.

“ _Why are we talking about Quidditch now?!_ _Don’t we hear enough from papa? Sorry, papa!_ ” Gabrielle added quickly.

“ _That’s alright,_ _ma bichette,_ ” Monsieur Lucien chuckled before giving her a flying kiss.

“He didn’t seem to like that kind of attention, else he wouldn’t have resorted to hiding. I did see some girls literally sniffing him out at the perimeter of the forest. He apologized by the way about trespassing, he didn’t know.”

“It’s an honor! He can hide away anytime.”

“I’m sure he’ll appreciate the offer. “

Hermione widened her eyes, realizing her mistake.

“ _Ohh~ Are you meeting again~? Why don’t you invite him here~? Maybe he won’t mind~_ ” Fleur suggested, fluttering her eyelashes, seeming to hide a smile by drinking from her goblet.

“ _He?! Who is he? 'Ermione, are you hiding a boyfriend? Why didn’t you tell me?_ ” piped Gabrielle with wide eyes. “ _We could have bought you more outfits!_ ”

“No! _I mean no. I have no …whatever you just said, ok? And please no more dresses._ Anyway, that’s not the point. I mean, I’m sure he’ll appreciate your sentiment in case he drops by again. But that won’t be likely since I’m sure he’ll be practicing his broom thing – ”

“Broom thing? I don’t like where this is going, buttercup. Should we be having ‘the talk’ this earl – ”

“Dad, no!”

* * *

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Looking around, Viktor subtly casted protective enchantments around the general area of what he now thinks as ‘the special space’, muttering continuously under his breath until he felt the light of the sun, and the light of his magic merge and hold everything in place.

He felt a little drained after his team’s practice before dawn, with eyes strained by the pre-dawn light, and his mild headache. But he shrugged it off, doing his best to maintain a steady demeanor during his performance analysis, paying attention to the minutest detail of techniques, weaknesses, and strengths that Trainer Valkov painstakingly noted and taking it all in.

But the moment the team finally hit the showers, Viktor was so thankful of his younger self to have had the foresight to choose the farthest stall as his usual so it wouldn’t be all too obvious with the other players how quickly he finished washing and drying, putting on a deep red, quarter-sleeved shirt with lines of Bulgarian embroidery in the front, and a brown furred coat on top to hide it. He called out a tired ‘see you later’ to the team – still sticking to his usual behavior – before cloaking himself in the mirage spell as he went out the door, with his hastily stuffed sports bag over his shoulder and his heart hammering with anticipation, hope, and anxiety.

He has to be here again. He has to convince himself he didn’t imagine the girl with wary but intelligent eyes. That he hadn't imagined a Hermione Jean Granger – _M_ _ugul_ Greek mythology may have fascinated him but he’s not that creative – that he didn’t let his adrenaline-filled, and panicked mind conjure up a beautiful daydream that he could escape to from the stress of getting mobbed, and the pressure from the upcoming match.

He had to know. He just had to know it was all _real._ He had to know there could actually be someone he could call mine.

That last thought made him stop and pondered deeply last night, delaying sending the letters that were ready to be sent to his family about his good news.

_Is it good news?_

After he came back to the reality that the pretty witch was out of sight and no longer unknowingly protected his peace of mind, it sunk in that everything within him was going too fast and too strong. Learning from past years, he has come to expect to feel the type of emotion similar to boiled potatoes – the moment you look inside them, they're raw. Immature. Not at all ready to be consumed. Not at all the way his heart yearned to shout _goosh!_

Until now.

He grew up believing his source of true happiness will be from the one person in the world he is meant for. But, nothing in the mountain of books and delicate scriptures has ever mentioned how strongly he’d feel towards his _custodia_ at first sight, only the implications of the effect they have to the _tragicus_ as they bond.

Or not bond.

No wonder it meant ‘a tragic poet’, for he can feel the impending heartbreak he’ll get if things don’t work out. What if his _custodia_ decided for him that he shouldn’t continue a career in Quidditch? She seems like the sensible type, so maybe she’ll want him to be in the Ministry, or maybe the Academe…or a scribe perhaps.

Who knows? He’ll have to work on his cursive Latin alphabet, just in case.

But he _does_ know already that he won’t have the heart to deny her anything, if she turned those wide eyes on him.

But that’s where Viktor’s unease kicks in. As much as he wants to please Hermione, he’s undecided if he’ll just give up months of effort that not only he, but also his friends, his team, Trainer Valkov, and his parents has worked hard for; pushing his body and mind, testing his limits constantly until he falls and breaks – which is literally meant when he doesn’t pay as much attention as he should during practice. And that one time he collapsed at the Institute. Very embarassing.

Every time there’s always someone that would help him up, or push him up every time he falls. He’s eager to have Hermione be one of them…maybe? _If_ she chooses him –

– an office job might not be so bad, right?

Before he’d have time to spiral again, he walked briskly towards what he feels is the right direction, looking over every tree root he passed for the sight of a curly high ponytail or another fetching dress.

What greeted him eventually as he arrived at the familiar clearing is a sight he’d pay a good weight of Galleons to be painted.

Surrounded by a variety of open books was the young witch he’s been thinking of all night, which is partly responsible for almost making him late to training. What made this more special to him was the more relaxed clothing she has on, with her hair freely tousled by the light breeze, making his hand itch to run through every thick strand of it.

To top it all off, she had the most peaceful sleeping face he’s ever seen on a girl – then again, the only females he has safely slept near is Mira – but that’s usually with Georgi. And he’s more preoccupied with trying to control his friend from pouring water over her face on their last Wilderness and Wasteland class outing – and his female relatives. But they don’t look as attractive to him as the girl currently using one of the tree’s roots like a Greek goddess lounging on a chaise. One of her arms even supported her head while she reclined on her side, a book precariously balanced on her hip with her hand rested on it.

Viktor smiled as he can feel the sensation of…nothing at all from the female, only his own feelings while thinking back on the kindness and patience she has shown him despite his foolishness.

He looked up critically at 'their tree' before carefully climbing up as quietly as he can, determined to wait on his _custodia_ to catch up on some needed sleep, noting the puffy skin under her eyes.

Maybe he’ll do the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Finally posted this! I was close to posting it on time a few days ago but then, duty calls. Broke my personal record but, when life gives you lemons, squeeze it out, add some honey, and make a refreshing juice for everyone to enjoy~
> 
> I've always wondered about the family dynamics of the Delacours. As a person who's a quarter something, and a quarter something, and half something myself, the impression of people can be positive or negative. I just treat everything as a compliment and watch how they react to it. You'd get varying results each time. xD
> 
> EDITED 11/14/2020 with requested Translations / Explanations:
> 
> Bouillabaisse - is a traditional Provençal fish stew originating from the port city of Marseille. It's main ingredients are fish, shellfish, potatoes, garlic, onions, tomatoes, olive oil. There are also spices added on to it.
> 
> Iris is the French national flower. It represents pureness, brightness, solemnity and freedom.
> 
> Purple lilies represent royalty, privilege, passion.
> 
> 'to have been struck by lightning' (Avoir un coup de foudre) - French idiom that means 'love at first sight'.
> 
> non-magique - French version of 'muggle'
> 
> ma bichette (masculine form) - French endearment that mean something like 'my little doe'
> 
> Mugul (Мъгъл) - Bulgarian version of 'muggle'
> 
> 'Love, love, it's like a boiled potato. But if you cut it, you see it's raw' - I can't find the exact Bulgarian pun/rhyme, but from what I understand, this means it's a type of infatuation, or maybe an incomplete love, full of misunderstandings or selfishness. I think.
> 
> Goosh! (Гуш!) - Bulgarian exclamation that means 'hug'. Like, when something amazes you, you say 'wow!'. If you want someone to be quiet, you say 'shh!'. So when you want to hug or be hugged, you say this.
> 
> As you can see, Bulgarian's use Cyrillic alphabet, not the Latin one that we're using here.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	12. Granger Summer 1993: The Familiarity

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Hermione woke gradually, awareness coming back into focus as she felt the warmth of the day shine down on her aching body; the gentle breeze that swept through the grounds made the heat pleasant enough on her skin. Unfortunately, it didn't relieve the dull tenderness on her lower abdomen and back. She tried to pay it no mind as she picked herself up to stretch out her arms and legs, doing the Seated Forward Bend while she's at it, and rotating her neck slowly to get rid of the stiffness there, grimacing slightly at the odd spasms below her ear.

She contemplated if it was worth going out of the cabin today as she massaged the side of her neck, thinking of how grueling it will be to walk back dragging her various summer assignments with her. Looking around, she picked up the tome near her hip again, brushing it off with a practiced stroke, remembering it as the recreational reading she brought along for a break from answering a word problem in Transfiguration.

Ever since Hermione held her first book, she wasn't the type of person that would leave a story unfinished; any work left undone. She tends to build a sense of anxiety that she knows will grow and become invasive in her everyday life, manifesting itself in the form of a badgering little voice that makes her forget to sleep or eat if no one checks in on her.

It was a near thing at school sometimes – usually when exams hit – if not for Ron nagging at her to eat her food and not her quill, or Harry's gentle admonishments through Hedwig, who gently peck at her curls if she didn't head off to bed at a reasonable hour.

But today she feels so incredible lethargic to the point of carelessness – but not so careless as to compromise her safety. That's always a priority. But she did have little sleep last night, mostly trying to suffocate herself with a pillow since it wasn't possible to sink through the floor while her parents' kept teasing her. It's not at all because she was stressing about not stressing about what she should wear today – why should it matter?

But then the cramps came in the early hours of the morning, feeling more painful than the last time she had them. Hermione gave herself a blank stare on the antiquated looking glass while she was brushing her teeth, knowing the futility of trying to go back to sleep now especially when she thinks she'll have to deal with this while meeting up with –

Who is she kidding? Maybe yesterday was just an accident. One of those coincidental events that has been happening to her ever since she came to know she has magic coursing through her veins; ever since her first meeting with Mr. Weasley and her parents about receiving another type of education. Maybe what she said at lunch the day before was true, him humoring a little girl that didn't attempt to snatch up his clothes to be sold to the highest bidder – honestly, obsessive fans of celebrities are just as nutty as people during sale events at the shopping centre, whether in the muggle or wizarding world.

Absolutely _maddening_.

And speaking of mental, if his fans _are_ as rabid as he says they are, it means he's more of a superstar than he lets on, especially taking into account Monsieur Lucien's commendation of his prowess in the high-flying sport. Even though she gave her word to meet again, she doesn't really expect him to come back when she's positive he's busy doing …whatever well-known people would do. He may be young, but she's aware that famous people tend to mill about with like-minded people.

Harry doesn't count. He's treated more like a cautionary tale most of the time than not.

Anyway, it's none of her concern. He can go do whatever he wants. She doesn't have to care what he thinks of h–

Oh, this is so ridiculous! Her hormones are so ridiculous. She absolutely hates being on the rag. She can't do anything productive and her moods are monstrous. Even her parents know to keep their distance when this happens.

Huh. Monstrous. She wonders if she should take _Care of Magical Creatures_ in the coming year. She couldn't quite place where lessons are held – outside most definitely. Although she can't imagine an ordinary classroom holding a menagerie – or can it? In the magical world, anything seems possible. Mr. Scamander's book is quite fascinating all on its own but does Hogwarts allow some of the actual creatures on school grounds? Some of them perhaps – the benign ones preferably; something similar to the unicorns running about in the forbidden forest. That sounds lovely. Maybe they'll focus on the local wildlife?

She's so hungry now. But she just ate breakfast. What time is it? Oh right, she has a watch. Lunch is so far away. Maybe she's actually thirsty? She knows she brought a thermos of tea. But it's going to be too hot. The day isn't that hot though, so a good cuppa is a good thing, right? It relaxes the muscles and increases blood flow for –

"Hermione? Are you not well? _Hermione?_ "

Said witch snapped her eyes open, realizing she subconsciously placed herself in a fetal position while her mind was all over the place; her arms were wrapped around her legs, knees bracing her chin. She blinked rapidly, reorienting herself while trying to place where she's hearing a voice.

"Who…?"

A deep chuckle sounded from above.

She craned her head up and saw a pair of long dangling legs covered in what seem to be brown robes. It's only when she strained to look higher among the foliage was a pair of gleaming yet concerned dark eyes.

"Oh. It's you again." Hermione said tonelessly, blankly staring back at the unexpected sight.

Is he part cat? Cats enjoy keeping an eye on everything below their perch, last she heard. Is being on an elevated place the same for Quidditch players? Is it a common practice for them so they can feel confident in the skies?

The teen rumbled another chuckle before calling out a warning he's coming down.

Hermione just stayed where she was, pulling her basket close – freeing up space and putting her books out of the way – figuring if he was able to get pass her while she was napping, he'd be able to do it again. She doesn't remember seeing anyone when she arrived, double-checking it with approved spells from the Delacours.

That's one of the loopholes Hermione found out in the _Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery_ in the UK – she had to read about it again after Gabrielle's revelation. As long as she doesn't perform any magic in front of a muggle aside from her parents – which she's lease likely to encounter on a wizarding family's property that has various repelling charms all around, according to Fleur – and that she restricts herself from using her wand. The Trace seems to tap into the wand being used by the witch or wizard not yet of age.

She was disrupted from going on a tangent about impressing her teacher with an improved wandless magic aptitude by the unexpected sight of Viktor Krumov crouching low near her, kneeling on one leg, and moving quick, assessing eyes all over her. He was so focused he didn't notice his duffle bag dropped haphazardly next to the tree she's leaning on. Hermione noticed the smell of his clean skin – and is that…is that _olive oil_? She didn't think there was soap made from that. No doubt he took a shower after a training session. She still remembers how Harry and the Weasley twins have always smelt niffy after coming back from Captain Wood's notorious practice games, needing to shower at the boy's side of the Gryffindor dormitories since the school's Quidditch stadium didn't have showers in the locker room – probably figuring it's not worth the effort when the structure is so close to the castle anyway.

Reeling suddenly from her thoughts, Hermione knows she would have blushed again in Viktor's presence for noticing such a thing about him if not for the blood she's already losing at the moment. She'll just settle with raising a brow, silently inquiring what on Merlin's name is he doing craning his head like an owl.

"Yes, me. Hallo. You…sad? Have wound anywhere?"

"No. Not quite. Just feeling under the weather thank you," she said softly, trying to give off a calm facade. One of her eyes twitched though as she placed a hand subtly at her lower abdomen, feeling a sudden flair of pain. Her body seem to be protesting that she indeed is wounded but not because of any outside force.

"I am not understanding. Can I bring you relief? Anything need?"

The corner of Hermione's lips twitched in amusement, trying not to embarrass him for the unintended innuendo – honestly, you can't avoid learning all these strange things if the girls in her year didn't start hanging out with the fifth and sixth years over bodily changes, and how boys went from icky and revolting to fetching and irresistible. "I don't think so, Mr. Krumov. Unless you have some chocolate stashed away on you, that would be nice and – wait, you seriously have some? Are you even allowed to have it? Aren't sportsmen under some strict dietary requirement?"

"Mm-hm," he sounded lightly, winking conspiratorially before finally prying out the long searched for treat from his bag. "Mama would give in secret for practice, for big matches. Say to keep me alert and for _kŭsmet_. For luck," he explained as he opened part of the wrappings, and held out the end with it still on. "And you are forgetting again. Call me Viktor."

Overlooking the 'suggestion', she broke off a piece while eyeing him curiously, "That last word you used. It sounds like 'kismet' – it means 'fortune' or 'fate' doesn't it? Oh! It has lemon." Hermione took a bigger bite with a pleased sound.

The older boy smiled crookedly, taking off his robes and putting it on one arm – the revealed shirt he wore looked charming on him. "Bulgarian language has many Turkish words. I not surprise. And yes, gives you energy, no?"

"Are having lemons in your chocolates a specialty?" Hermione asked as she nibbled on another piece.

"No. Just have many flavors. Next time, you try rose oil dark chocolate."

Hermione let a breathy chuckle after a hearty swallow, "Next time? Are you going to be my supplier for all this? I don't think I can just casually drop by your country to get them. Tea?" She stretched to get her thermos and offered it to him, gesturing to it as an exchange for the chocolate.

"I could now. Have many in secret places," he patted his bag and inclined his head in the general direction of the stadium. "But I try control eating practice for training. So you can have many as you can."

"'Eating habit'. And 'I can have as much as I can'."

"Yes. I agree."

"I was trying to correct you."

"I stand corrected, " he said, humor twinkling in his eyes, despite the neutral expression on his face. He finally took the thermos and poured some of the tea in the cup it went with. But as he straightened, he carefully placed it in her free hand and gestured for her to drink it instead.

Hermione furrowed her brow, recognizing that she's being managed, albeit in a very gentle way. It's as if he can tell she's –

She widened her eyes. "Do you have a sister?"

" _Ne._ Close like one though. Mira is like dragon on her 'time'. We call it 'Week of the Longhorn' – not something say out loud when she is near, of course; like dragon, she will stab and cook us first before ask questions."

Hermione became distracted from her sudden onslaught of giggles as he moved to cover her in his robes and went to drown her in it. "You I am thinking, like kitten. Need sun and warmth, yes? For relief?"

She sniffed, holding her head high as she controlled herself from bristling, proving his point… _again_. "Are you saying I'm weak?"

"I saying you much tired to try cook me, yes? You need many blan-kets to build den for rest. But reminds me, why you here if you not well?"

"Okay, _fine_. I do prefer that. Thank you for the robes; it is quite warm. I don't know why you bother to wear it in this weather – that is to say, unless you have an ability like foresight, having it with you here is good timing. And – well…I promised to be here. So…yeah."

-{-}-

Viktor was thoroughly enjoying himself, more than he could care to remember. Sure a few victories here and there at school and at Quidditch would expectedly give him a rush. But not like this; never like this type of light-hearted elation that is better than the feeling of wind running through his hair, and against his face during flight. He's honored by the thought of being the recipient of her selflessness, keeping a promise that others will easily break if they don't feel up to it. He has experienced this even with the burliest men at the field – whining like young mandrakes, wanting to be excused from being more active in play when they've barely experienced broken bones yet – not that he volunteers to be a recipient of bodily harm. Some team mates have come and gone because of this feeble attitude, getting an immediate boot off with plenty of colorful expletives from the combined efforts of their coach and Trainer Valkov.

His _custodia_ on the other hand is such a gem – it's not _official_ -official, he reminds himself. He has yet to report to his parents but details can wait. He knows he's presumptuous right now but she is so very adorable without intending to and he just has the great urge to tuck her in more and hide her from the rest of the world. He doesn't think his coat is enough but it's a start, especially when she started to pet at the furred collar inquisitively.

The longer he interacts with her, the more facets of her personality he can see, like the kaleidoscopic reflections of a polished garnet from the Rhodope Mountains. And like the color of the precious stone, she has such fire, such cheek – never backing down despite being on unfamiliar territory. He can tell she doesn't interact with males that often, or at least, not like this.

The thought made him both nervous and confident, oddly enough.

She must have been through an ordeal to have developed this kind of resolve. Was it a recent one or when she was younger? Or maybe she inherited her personality from her parents? Does she have her own mentor? Anyone would be glad to have her as an apprentice if the books she keeps carrying are anything to go by.

He just wants to learn everything…!

But, as he was taught, ladies' first.

"You have questions," he started, getting himself more comfortable beside her on the tree – their tree; he has to stop mentally correcting himself. But it's still their tree – "you say so yesterday."

She snapped her jaw shut, curiosity winning out over her ire, probably stopping a tirade about whatever it is he's done. He's used to it anyway. He could almost see smoke coming out of Mimi's ears when he's done absolutely nothing during her womanly time, even if it's just tripping on air and that somehow made her day a bad one. Thankfully, Gosho always gets the blame.

She tilted her head, eyes roaming his face while she ruminates. All he can do is give a small but sincere smile, basking in her attention, and waited patiently.

"Why did you seem so happy when you said you did not understand my emotions?"

Viktor was caught off-guard, leaning more heavily on the rough bark at his back. "Y-you…are very direct," he stuttered with a surprise chuckle. "Much smarter than I expect." Incredible. He never imagined she'd catch on to the heart of the matter so soon, not until at least he'd get to know her better, have more time with her, before he won't get to see much of her in the coming year.

Viktor's not naïve. He understood from yesterday that she's only visiting for the game and he won't have the chance to meet her afterwards - whatever the outcome may be. But he's determined at least to get permission to write to her – if not outright visit near wherever she's studying or living. He better rearrange his calendar again, especially if he has to cross the seas. But he hopes he has inferred correctly from her accent and quirky inflections that she's within Europe, crossing out France already.

It looks like he'll have to consult Dietrich about efficient timetables after all.

"I get that a lot. And…you said I can ask," she said quietly, wrapping dainty fingers around her cup.

Viktor tilted his head up, choosing his words carefully. "And it is very good question. But explanation not enough for short time we have." As strenuous as it is to _not_ lean closer, he was careful to keep a polite distance between them, less he makes her uncomfortable. He can feel her eyes on him though, waiting patiently for him to sort through his thoughts, and then translating them into something passably understandable. "I know not words to give better explanation but, I can feel…the feelings of others."

"You mean like empathy?"

"What?"

"It's the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. You can, uh, sympathize when they're sad about something, understand why they're mad, or share the joy that the other is experiencing. That sort of thing."

Viktor smiled, pouring more tea into her cup. "I can _feel_ , what others are feeling. At a limited…dis-tance? Yes, distance. I can feel from limited distance. From women only." He explained succinctly, raising his brows in emphasis, waiting for the inevitable whirling of her intelligent mind to connect context clues.

If anything, that is what he can count on her for.

-{-}-

Hermione put down her cup cautiously, turning her body to face the mysterious teen, catching one sleeve of his massive robes before it fell from one of her shoulders. The warmth from it is would normally be excruciating to bear under the summer sun but her muscles are appreciating the security. Her fingers couldn't resist petting the collar again as she thought over what he's trying to say.

If she rightly comprehends the gist of it, he's saying he can _literally_ feel another's emotion, especially from women. But she's –

Right. _Right_. Luckily, he can't feel hers. He's happy he can't feel hers.

She doesn't know whether to be relieved or irritated about that; relieved that he won't experience the crazy fluctuations that's been happening to her during her time, and irritated because he's doing a fairly good job of taking care of her like her parents would have to keep her calm – for a boy that is. Which begs another question, "How do you know what you're feeling is acutally yours and not another's?"

He hummed in thought, the low timber of it raising the hairs at the back of her neck in a surprisingly pleasant way. How strange. "When I was little boy, it is diff-i-cult. I understand mama gets mad when I do wrong, but I do not know if I should also be mad, yes? Or when Mimi – Mira, would be sad in her heart but does not show it. But she gets mad when I talk to her about it. From there, I start understanding what is happening in me."

"Is it hereditary then? I mean, does it also happen in others in your family?" Hermione blinked, thinking of all the inconveniences of not only growing up trying to decipher one's feelings but also getting them from others? That would surely be befuddling.

"It is unusual for many to have in a gen-era-tion. It can happen in other countries but we do not know. It is not to be known or else, we are take – taken advantage." He said, a more severe expression overcoming his face before he relaxed back again, turning back his focused gaze on her.

This made Hermione quiet again, grasping at all the possible implications. No wonder he said he felt safe around her. "Well, hiding out is not such a bad thing for you after all. I'd wondered why you didn't like the attention. You know, as an athlete. I usually see them enjoying the hurrah and hurray."

He guffawed, instantly cheering up, "I say before, there is no such thing as too much support. But you say you don't meet people like me up close – we all do not wish for attention. Those that want it prove to not much like the sport for itself.

My team likes sport, so we train for sport. The result of hard work is what you see in game.

Or…what you will see in game? Will you cheer for me?" He asked, perking up.

"I don't know. Ask me again some other time." What is wrong with her? Did she actually sound like a flirt?!

His answering beam had her forgetting her indignation. "I will. Make room in basket for the many chocolate."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I dedicate this to all of you that have been patient with me. Having to do some work from home until the weekend made it a little challenging to write this in between but I made it! (edited to fix up some sentences)
> 
> And thanks to the quirky algorithm of YT, listening to various 30s to 40s love songs motivated me especially for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> EDITED 11/15/2020 with Translation and Explanation:
> 
> On the rag - British slang for 'that time of the month for a girl's cycle'.  
> niffy - British slang for a 'bad smell'
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	13. Summer 1993: The Standpoint

_(Disillusioned and Restricted) Visiting Team Camp, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Yards away from the other players’ tents, a deceivingly unmarked one stood small, secluded, and easily obstructed – a high caliber bewitchment done well by the Petrovs.

Although this was mainly for the sake of Mira’s privacy more than Viktor’s, he expressed his appreciation about it nonetheless. The sense of privacy he and his friends are afforded by the old magic was strong enough that not even the most determined fans can get through it. If they were to use his family’s tent however, it will surely catch anyone’s eye – their family emblem is both iconic as well as a bother for the young wizard.

Inside the mud-washed shelter, pass the various swathes of hanging embroidered, and richly colored fabric – depicting a few favorite animals of the Stoyanovs – Mira coolly watched from a settee in the expanded space as Georgi move to and fro in agitation, mindlessly waving away the large floating bells he’s been playing with a while ago. He apparently planned to add some loud clanging to their cheers as an intimidation tactic at the finals against the Quiberon Quafflepunchers, the reigning champions in the European League. Mira doesn’t know how he’ll be able pull it off but if the number of other instruments he brought along is any indication – she thinks she saw a drumstick or five somewhere – she could see him stir their side of the crowd into frenzy.

Or at least, he’ll try.

The teen witch had to duck quickly from instinct when Georgi suddenly turned and flicked his wand at her, realizing a moment later that he was aiming for the stylized gramophone behind her, shutting the louver over the horn to mute the harmonic singing and piano accompaniment – the jazzy tune probably not suiting his cranky mood. Pacing again, the brunette muttered under his breath as his heavy yet muffled footsteps echoed loudly in the ‘living room’.

“Gosho, you’ll ruin the carpet,” scolded Mira, a paper bag crinkled ominously in her grip. Her neck was starting to get stiff from tracing her friend’s micro warpath.

“No I won’t – I haven’t paced enough yet.”

Mira grumbled, resting her head on the back of the settee and stared up at the cream-colored canopy lit up by the high noon sun. It’s a wonder it didn’t add to the heat already emanating from the small working fireplace. Her parents decided to fit it in the family’s tent in case any of them needed things delivered to and from their respective homes – the only compromise their parents accepted in order for the Troublesome Tri-ovs to stay together in a foreign country, with only the other players, team coach, and Trainer Valkov as their adult supervision. “You will with those boots on. I don’t care if they’re dragon hide. Why did you have to get the ones with hobnails at the sole? They’re positively outdated!”

Georgi called from over his shoulder, still pacing, “It’s called a re-emergence, Mimi. All trends get back in style in one decade or another.”

Mira raised her head and a finely shaped brow, “But not in half a century!”

She crossed her arms, the bag still in her hand crinkled again. “You just think they look cool, don’t you?”

Georgi smiled and raised his chin in challenge. “What’s your point~?”

Mira sighed and just waved at him without care, sensing a useless debate. Instead, she sifted through the contents of the paper bag and took a bite from her _gevrek_ – she’s getting hungry too but at least she knows how to curb it in a non-destructive way. “Here, just get one already. Vinko is just delayed. He’ll come around. He always does.” She shrugged, shaking the bag to offer some of the sesame-covered crispy bread to the other teen.

“You and I both know that he is unnervingly punctual since his existence – I know Aunt Lexi made a joke out of it at one time – especially at meal times. He’s never late. Ever! Why do you think we’re so early in France, team schedule aside? And how many times must I tell you, Mimi, growing boys have growing stomachs. Our hunger should never be delayed – double _entendre_ not intended,” He winked while she boo-ed and gave him double thumbs down. “In fact, we should eat at least five times a day – snacks not included. Something is afoot!” He stressed and took three quick bites to finish off his snack.

Mira scrutinize him with a little more thought. “Have you been reading those English mystery novels again?”

“It helps with my grammar, which benefits our dear Vinko, with his conviction to cast his net, as we discussed before. Focus, Ms. Stoyanova!” Georgi snapped his fingers, making Mira scowl, not appreciating the gesture or the address. “The point is, what if Vinko is out there, all by his lonesome, facing the perils of the pack – ” saying this, Georgi turned and summoned his cloak.

“ – here we go –”

“ – and without you as his enforcer and me as a barrier, he will be entirely vulnerable. You know, as his very good friend, I would die for him – ”

“ – die to get lady attention – ” Mira interjected in a deadpan.

“ – for ‘he who would accomplish little, need sacrifice little; he who would achieve much must sacrifice much. He who would attain highly must sacrifice greatly.’”

Mira stared, surprised. “Was that Georgov you quoted? Was that discussed in class?”

Georgi pulled back the arm he raised up in dramatic fashion during his spiel, and faced her with arms akimbo. “Oh no. Someone more recent. It’s a James Allen. Interesting author that one. But…hmm, good idea! I might recommend him for Sage Class, even if he is _mugul_.”

Mira’s expression turned sardonic. “So ‘what’s your point?’” she parroted back, putting her own arms akimbo.

The dark-haired witch was caught off-guard when Georgi suddenly pulled her up effortlessly by her bent arm – she should have known he’ll know that she’ll copy him to mock him – and ran out in the blinding sunlight, just quick-witted enough to snag her shoulder bag from the floor.

“We’re getting Viktor from wading the onions!”

* * *

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“In trouble, huh? That’s not the look of a wizard that’s in trouble,” Mira whispered, trying to control the amusement she’s projecting lease their wayward friend catches on to where they are.

She had been following Georgi and his vague directions for the past fifteen minutes, claiming he knows where the last place Viktor had been when he released the Mirage spell yesterday. Her crafty friend reasoned that if Viktor was comfortable enough to feel a place is safe, he’ll naturally take off the stifling sensation of the magic. Although Georgi’s ingenious spell work has been proven to be highly effective when used to blend in with the surroundings, the user has to put up with the feeling of being under three layers of fur pelt while it’s over them – Georgi admitted he’s still tweaking the finer elements of it. She hissed at him ferociously one time when they all had to enter a rowdy tavern undetected for a quick pit stop in Ljubljana for the semi-finals match. She can’t really see how Viktor can deal with the stuffy air on an almost daily basis when he’s at school avoiding the Highmaster or training before a match but she deduced he made it part of his exercise, both magically and physically – even if it feels like being slow-cooked alive under the height of summer.

And now they’re on the forest floor, about a meter outside Viktor’s sensing range, nearly crawling on their bellies and sharing a pair of Mira’s old omnioculars as they spied the very rare sight of their friend laughing unrestrained with a stranger next to him. After a while of careful study, Georgi frowned, “He’s been holding out on me. Which pack does she hail from so I can pick one up for myself.”

Mira simply took back her device with one hand before giving her thick-skinned friend a focused, but ‘light’, kidney shot, making Georgi quietly groan in pain before rolling over on his other side. She sniffed before turning to observe the interesting interaction between her other childhood friend, and a cute little brunette beside him wearing his coat – a feat Viktor has never done with any girl he’s had contact with.

Of course, he’s always been unfailingly polite with female company, but he’s never done any more than what was required of him – like that time when he had to escort some of his female cousins to a holiday party and he glared at the sleazy older wizards who wanted to ‘get to know’ the companions of the budding Seeker of the Striking Snipes. Or being a helpful presence for his grandmother when she was startled badly by the _mugul_ fireworks display in Sofia a few months back, vanishing the spilt sauce on the older woman’s dress with an efficient flicker of his wand and no more.

As far as she knew, he’s never felt the inclination of lending anything he owns for the sake of propriety. But by the look of things, the curly-haired girl is being well taken care of – is that a huge chocolate bar? Where in Jarilo’s blessed planes did Viktor hid that?! Now Mira’s doubly craving.

Thinking back, ever since Viktor had to keep an eye on balancing his schedule for his studies as well as his demanding Quidditch training, he understandably started to neglect his attempts at intimate dealings with girls – no doubt as practice. In her opinion, it is for the better, both for his emotional stability as well as his peace of mind. Oddly enough, she feels like the man in their friendship who has to constantly ground her boys from being carried away by their romantic inclinations – an interesting development given what they were like when they were younger.

Viktor was the shiest in all their Basic Education classes, mostly because he’s the tallest – all long limbed and duck-footed, not yet grown into the Krumov physique. He almost always hunched over, trying to be less noticeable, and trying to fit in with the crowd. The girls could easily reach his height at that age but his affliction made him nervous and indecisive around them, no matter how nice or innocent their treatment was.

It’s not until Georgi was on the scene when he transferred from another school did Viktor finally come out of his shell and embraced his early growth spurt. The enthusiastic brunette’s squeaky gushing about his height as a deterrent for bullies made their Vinko see himself in a new light. It also helped that his father figured out the benefits of Occlumency as not just a shield against intruding minds.

In Mira’s case, she’s a little bit of an outcast herself among the chatty group of girls in their year. They were more interested in butterfly clips – made from real insects – and the odd velvet hair ties that were all the rage with young _muguls_ than the groundbreaking but painful changes happening in their country after the global wizarding war. Although her family was mercifully safe during that time, the haunted countenance on all of her grandparents’ faces made her comprehend quickly that their survival is something they have to be thankful for every day and she shouldn’t waste her time on frivolous things. She’s learned to be more Spartan in her dress and in her meals, not asking much from her parents – not even gifts for her birthday or in any national holiday. She wanted to be mindful and kept her focus towards not failing in any lesson so she won’t burden her family from paying more than they should.

That all changed when her boys noticed the oddity in the little witch with a simple ponytail and simple dress, preferring to play by herself than to rub elbows with the snooty girls out in the field pulling cruel pranks on boys they deem ‘ugly’.

Waking from her reverie, she looked through her omniculars again and saw that the shorter girl was trying to give the coat back to Viktor, probably as a trade with the basket he currently has on hand – his arm was stretched away as far away from the girl as he can.

A _teasing_ Viktor? The dark haired witch recognized with a hidden smile. _Axa_ …I haven’t seen that side in a long while.

Through the years they’ve grown up together, they’ve had their share of relationship ups and downs. Georgi of course with his more open personality, has mingled quite well with any clique of the school, whether it was with the popular kids or the anti-social ones. For her, she tried to explore going out with some boys that were initially interested due to her frugal nature. Eventually she turned them down when she couldn’t see herself as anything more than a cheap option for them in the long run. Her mother taught her to give herself more self-respect than that. It helps that Georgi and Viktor have been slowly spoiling her with thoughtful gifts here and there and insider information on what a decent boy should be like that she developed a better standard for her relationships.

And as for Viktor. Well, being a _tragicus_ , he unfortunately – yet poetically – has mostly relationship downs, leaving him more disappointed for every year that pass. It didn’t help that his ideal viewpoint on his affliction made his heart more delicate; any girl that didn’t match what she shows him outwardly to what they’re actually feeling inside for him just adds to his despondency. Over time, it made him cultivate a more standoffish and unfriendly persona, with only she, Georgi, and a select few of his foreign friends from Durmstrang are able to penetrate – with great difficulty really, something which the great Gregorovitch was able to see when he bestowed the tenacious boy a wand made out of Hornbeam.

Very apt indeed.

But right now, with the ease of confidence Viktor is showing this little witch, Mira would have thought they’ve been friends for as long as their trio have been. So that leaves –

Mira’s eyes widened at the thought that struck her like lightning.

_Could it be?_

She quickly turned to an already recovered Georgi, ignoring the glare and quiet whine he sent her, shaking his shoulder as she excitedly whispered, “Gosho…Gosho! I think that’s her. That’s the one!”

“One what? That caught a big fish? Yes, I believe so. I wonder how crafty this one was to slip Vinko some Amortentia? I’m sure that obsessive focus in his eye is a symptom.”

“No! You’ve got it entirely wrong. Look there… she’s been trying to leave him instead of _leading_ him on somewhere. And instead of giving her, what I assume, her things, he’s teasing her with it. That’s not something someone under a powerful love potion would act like.”

“And you would know this how?”

“I actually paid attention to Potions Brewing class, mister Social Butterfly. Oh wait, you were so busy last term trying to flirt your way into that Romanian girl’s skirts that it’s a miracle you passed!”

The two went on to bicker heatedly for several long minutes. They were so absorbed by their argument that they neglected to notice the shadow that crept up over them until they heard someone clear their throat overhead. They blinked at each other in surprise before looking forward to a pair of worn but familiar dark footwear. Before long, they slowly inclined their heads to look up and met with the unimpressed face of the heir to the Krumov’s vast conservatory.

-{-}-

The hush that fell over the forest was a sudden one after Viktor turned abruptly in the direction of the stadium, making Hermione realize how lively their discussion became after she felt more comfortable in his presence; the pain below her abdomen ebbing significantly. She thought she offended him in some way but since he stubbornly held on to her basket while he walked briskly where he turned his head to, she immediately followed, her curiosity overpowering her ire again.

When she caught up to him after a minute or two of jogging – his long strides were annoyingly efficient in covering a lot more ground than her shorter legs could ever hope for, even if she power walked – she saw him with his head bent down, arms behind his back, and his legs squared resolutely. She raised a brow, speculating again about his formative years to have developed that stance when movement in the grass caught her eye.

Two people, a boy and a girl as far as she can tell, were flat on their stomachs and looking up at him, smiling widely like how Fred and George would if you caught them red-handed. Are they…stalkers of his? They have something that look like a telescope in their hands, so it might not be that far from the truth.

Wait, what if those were wizarding cameras? What if they’re some sort of journalists? Have they seen her with Viktor?

A rush of anxiety had Hermione take a step back. She’s not sure she’s comfortable being speculated on. She knows all the hogwash that could make or break a celebrity – at least in the muggle world – if they’re written based on an assumption of what they’re doing. Even she unwittingly got duped when she read some rubbish gossip in the muggle papers about an artist she liked. Her parents though made it one of their lessons to teach her about discernment and sound judgment – which, maybe she should employ now before her hormones get the best of her again.

She tentatively moved closer again to Viktor’s back – with the young wizard moving his arms to his side when he seemed to sense her approach, making her feel flattered at the thought that he probably was readying himself to protect her – before gathering the courage to tilt her upper body to the side to take a look at the recipients of the rest of his attention.

Her eyes met immediately with a short haired brunette’s, his body covered in a velvety green cloak, who’s winning smile made her wary instantly, remembering Lockhart. Her apprehension abated when the girl next to him slapped him upside the head. She stood up abruptly, and shook Hermione’s unoccupied hand, with her other still holding on to Viktor’s large robes.

The older looking girl then gushed something Hermione just stared at in incomprehension before recognizing the name ‘Mira’. The younger witch figured she must be the same Mira Viktor was talking about and she must’ve spoken to her in Bulgarian. Viktor’s low chuckle at her staring and quick translation made it more apparent.

“She says ‘Good afternoon, how are you? My name is Mira Nikolova Stoyanova.’”

Hermione blinked owlishly. Mira was tall with an athletic built – like a volleyball player, if she didn’t know any better – dressed in tight fitting pants, knee-high boots, and a leather jacket – stingray, if she recognized the pattern correctly. Having the telly on most knowledge channels growing up was a brilliant move by her parents, even if her subconsciously acquired information seems useless in the wizarding world. Hermione would have been intimidated by Viktor’s friend if not for the wide smile forming on her face the longer she looked over at her, from the top of her curly head down to her black fraying plimsolls. She nonetheless stuttered out self-consciously, “I-it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Hermione Granger.”

“Pleasure! back,” the taller witch responded with a smile before turning her head to Viktor with a smirk. “ _A princess? How fitting Vinko.”_

“ _Shut up, Mimi,”_ Viktor hissed through clenched teeth, a hint of a blush on the apple of his cheeks.

Wondering what’s being said, Hermione didn’t notice the brunette from before slip in front of Mira, smoothly taking her hand while introducing himself in impressively less accented English, “And I’m his other close friend, pretty one. At your service. Call me Gosho~” He then bowed over her hand with a flirty wink. Viktor went to unsubtly knock Georgi away with an elbow. “Excuse friend’s casual introduction. He is being rude. He is Georgi Vasilov Petrov.” Viktor then turned on his heel, and spoke quickly to the other boy in a scolding tone.

Hermione shook off her shock and giggled in spite of herself. Their familiarity reminded her strongly of her own boys’ when they rough housed too much, especially after surviving a particularly challenging quiz. She waited until Mira looked over at her again with a helpless shrug before she said, “Tell them no offense taken. It’s fine.” When the other girl smiled again and opened her mouth to possibly reply, a flutter of yellow and black Swallowtails passed through their little gathering, making Hermione look down at her wristwatch.

“Oh! It’s lunchtime. I’m so terribly sorry but I have to go now.”

Before any of the Bulgarians recovered from the gentle sweep of the Delacours’ familiars, Hermione took the chance to finally snatch up her basket from Viktor’s loose hold and replace it with his robes. Despite Viktor’s frown, she steeled herself and took a few steps backwards and shyly waved at them.

She very well knew it’s rude to cut things off after being introduced to new acquaintances but her socializing battery has run dangerously low – which she’s learning to anticipate during her time of the month. She doesn’t want to risk embarrassing herself by saying something intolerable and give them the wrong impression – although leaving them hanging could also give them the wrong impression.

Gah! She needs to retreat _now_ before her thoughts run in circles again.

But before she did, she made sure to catch Viktor’s eye between the space of a wingbeat, mouthing “see you soon” with a bashful smile before she turned tail and ran with the energy from her hammering heartbeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I've been playing a bit on Viktor's description in the books. It's actually very relatable if looked at a different perspective. 
> 
> To all those that have favorited, bookmarked, or stalked this tip of the iceberg of ideas that I have planned for this pairing, I hope I kept you entertained~ I'm sorry in advance for any more erratic updates. It's both because this month I'll be a little more busy due to work and I'm also trying to reign in my over-editing mind. One path of the story inevitably leads to three or more whenever I think too much, like a sword cutting off the head of a hydra and out comes more.
> 
> I'll do my best to make my thoughts more coherent on writing. But then, as long as things move forward, I consider it as good progress. 
> 
> EDIT 11/15/2020 with requested Translations and Explanation:
> 
> Hobnails are essentially nails driven into the soles of military or work boots to provide traction on snow and ice. For soldiers and mountaineers, they were standard issue for literally thousands of years through around the 1950s.
> 
> Gevrek - similar to a soft pretzel, or even a bagel, is a chewy, yet soft bread-product, shaped into a ring, dipped in honey and water, topped with sesame seeds and baked.
> 
> 'wading the onions' (сгазвам лука) - Bulgarian phrase that means 'get in trouble / getting into trouble'
> 
> Ljubljana - capital city of Slovenia
> 
> Jarilo - Slavic God of Vegetation, Fertility and Springtime. Mira is basically implying Viktor is courting Hermione already. 
> 
> According to HP wiki, Hornbeam 'selects for its life mate the talented witch or wizard with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession - more kindly - vision, which will almost always be realised.'
> 
> plimsolls - what the British call light, rubber-soled canvas shoes.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	14. Summer 1993: The Guidance

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“They say a tree falls where it leans. For you, I mean this literally.”

Viktor shook his head abruptly, straightening his back. He turned sharply to face Trainer Valkov, his gaze focused once again but with eyebrows slanted down in apology.

It was dusk now in the parterre-filled, fountain-adorned national stadium. They were the only athletes left standing at the players’ entrance. The team had already been dismissed for the day, so the only other people with them within a few meters are a small cluster of dedicated groundskeepers, who were subtly eyeballing the two well-known Bulgarians as they did their meticulous trimmings on the hedgerows.

The older wizard eyed him peculiarly for a slow second, eyebrows raised, before resuming his zealous assessment of Viktor’s performance without missing a beat, voicing precious insight in between – like how to better avoid getting caught by the tail wind of his teammates’ brooms or calculating when to barrel through their Chasers’ array in a bid to 'catch' the Snitch. Although this strategy may seem like Viktor is jeopardizing his team’s efforts to score, the main point was to greatly confuse their opponents – who are known for their solid flight formation.

“The Quafflepunchers’ arrogance has made them complacent; too full of themselves really – perhaps thinking it’s still within reason. This can be to our advantage when we’re able to pull this off,” Trainer Valkov finished with a determined blaze in his eyes.

Shaking his head in agreement, Viktor mentally noted all this down in great accuracy and admiration. Eventually, he ruminated on his distracted state for the past few days.

Whenever he’s allowed to pause in between intense Quaffle drills and Bludger evasion maneuvers, his head would turn almost like a compass towards the general direction of his true north – outwardly impassive, but pondering and anxious within. Despite his best efforts, Trainer Valkov was keen enough to notice this – which Viktor had unfortunately underestimated.

Just because the living legend retired as a player, doesn’t mean his senses had dulled.

Nonetheless, his mentor was magnanimous not to discuss it – for now –, recognizing Viktor may be going through something personal in nature, and didn’t seem to affect his play.

Viktor felt humbled by this everyday, putting to mind the level of trust Trainer Valkov has for him. He feels guilty for not reciprocating it, to a degree. Even after years of working together, Viktor remained ambiguous on why he generally avoids the female population; his affliction being a well-kept secret within his family. He’s also been trained in his younger years to never boast, so even discussions about their wealth or his growing fame was made difficult, getting thoroughly tongue-tied during interviews.

Their team’s publicist has his work cut out for him, working on Viktor’s deflections, which seems hopeless at the moment. On the other hand, his current reputation makes him out to be a silent, detached, yet focused player – something he doesn’t mind at all if it helps him keep his privacy. But, oddly enough, this makes him all the more attractive to the ladies, according to Georgi’s amused commentary. “And men!” Mira laughingly quipped in passing, which earned her a stumble, courtesy of Viktor’s leg innocently placed across her path.

And considering his trainer’s passion for the sport, he’s even more reluctant to discuss with the older wizard his sudden interest to a relative unknown witch that has him so diverted – especially someone who doesn’t care for Quidditch. It’s quite a relief for Viktor – and he’s biased, naturally – since he could talk about other matters of interest. He almost smiled stupidly as he remembered laughing out loud after Hermione animatedly told him about a Whooping Willow and a flying ‘car’. He’s not confident his mentor is onboard with anyone who's less than enthusiastic about the sport he gave the best years of his life to.

For now, Viktor has been putting all his energy in keeping their Chasers on edge with the surprising help of his ‘affliction’, as he’s been doing over the past few months after numerous trial and errors.

Since two out of the three are female, he’s been tuning into their emotions whenever he has the Quaffle, anticipating which direction where they’ll more likely to lean to just from their projected determination or impatience. But he doesn’t want to rely on his ailment too much, not discounting the other gender in the field. So he trains his eyes by examining the male players, watching out for feints or fake outs through their body language, ignoring their precise and planned taunting – no matter how playful they were with him compared to how they cruelly jeer against enemy players. This slowly helped him develop a pinpoint accuracy to his ‘readings’.

Eventually, his skillset as a Seeker broadened and improved. He soaked up almost all of the techniques he needed to know quickly, like the colourful sponges in the Strandzha mountain coast. In recent weeks in fact, their main Seeker confessed to their coach she has had no need thus far to instruct him further on his position, citing she is glad he’ll be able to share her burden while she’s still recovering from the deep bruises she earned during the semifinals. All the same, Trainer Valkov has been doing an excellent job on nitpicking on even the smallest of details about what else he needed to look out for to progress his game, whether it be physically or mentally.

Viktor’s grateful for his mentor’s dedication. As much as he’s proud of his accomplishments so far – balancing school and his intentional increase in workload as an athlete – he knows he still has a lot more to look forward to with his guidance. _I_ _f_ Viktor’s treating this as a long-term career that is.

Which now brings to mind the object of his indecisions, and single-minded regard.

Its been four long days since he last seen or heard from Hermione. He understood she needed rest. Mira already consoled him by discreetly mentioning about a girl’s normal cycle length but he already has a limited time as it is to secure the young witch’s interest. This delay will not help matters. _At all._

He supposed he _should_ try to adjust his stratagem, but the piles of chocolate he had planned to gift her every day was slowly melting on a table at the little dining nook in the tent – he was too disquieted to bother freezing them in some way; the study scrolls he had readied the night before he was informed Hermione needed to stay at the Delacour cabin for a period of time lay tightly closed and collecting dust – well, not really. But he would like to think it was long enough for them to accumulate, just as much as his despondency is; and the different shirts he hastily requested with an express falcon still lay by the fireplace, wrapped elegantly by his mother in a bundle, collecting ash – he still hasn’t replied to her puzzled inquiries over his odd behavior. But he’d prefer to give her a full account of who he has found, with hopefully, good news at the end of his – no doubt – detailed explanation.

Good thing there was a shop on the grounds selling extra parchment for his use – although that might be meant for autographs more than for stationery. He’ll have to explain the glittery nature of the material if it came to a point he was desperate enough to use them.

Being as self-assured as he was of his preparation for his next meeting with Hermione – ignoring the fact his friends were suspiciously enthusiastic when he requested they cover for him – what awaited him at their special place made him pause in great shock, almost forgetting his manners, before he hastily made a formal bow to the being that greeted him with a flick of her fine hair, and silent swish of her skirts.

The coloring and poise was unmistakable – albeit the vibrancy was a little subdued compared to a full-blooded one’s. The last time he encountered one of her kind was when he got lost in one of his family’s protected forests. He was only four years old. Luck was on his side that day. He was too innocent to not be taken in by their allure before his father rescued him.

He learned quickly to be very wary of any kind there were, whether they dwell in the conservatory or those scattered throughout Western Europe. Their projected feelings of beastly hunger, and spitefulness despite their beautiful visage were something he didn’t want to experience ever again.

He'll have to plan out how to avoid their national mascots in the World Cup, if he ever gets to that point in his life.

His father’s insistent lectures, and Georgi’s carefully guarded expression – a story in his eyes Viktor keeps forgetting to ask about – was enough to convince him to be cautious when dealing with the _Samodivi_. The one in front of him seems vaguely familiar.

After a moment or so had passed, the cool amusement and intelligent scrutiny behind a beguiling smile finally clued him in that this was the female he felt yards away from Hermione two days ago – the day he realized he can only discern what Hermione is feeling through her body language and facial expressions alone and nothing more. He can only speculate which emotion she is truly experiencing compared to the blatant _nosiness_ from this one that day.

When he rose from his stiff bow, the person – half Samodiva perhaps? Quarter? –gracefully curtseyed back, taking another long moment to look him over, before introducing herself with a slight incline of her head. He could just hear her murmur, in a deceptively light voice, say ‘You’ll do’, afterwards. He felt unsure if the...approval... was a good thing, coming from her. But his eyes widened fractionally at the mention of her family name.

“ _Ho_ ~ You know of us~? That is good. I can be brief. I am needed at home, you see.”

When he remained cautiously mute, she continued, “I am sure you are wondering of my presence, Monsieur Krumov, no~? I am here to inform you that dear Miss Granger has not been well. It is quite common for us females so you need not worry. Much.”

He could tell there were so many things left unsaid, but she seemed satisfied for now in baiting him with a raised brow. She waited with relaxed, crossed arms for his reaction.

But in actuality it took him awhile to respond, processing the differently stressed wording, and trying to ignore the strong projected curiosity and delight at his silence. If he didn’t know any better, she would fall into the category of those gossipy witches that will tattle all to the nearest journalist of anything that comes out of his mouth, just to say that they were able to converse with him.

But he does know better – the _Samodivi_ , or _Veelas_ in most languages outside of East and South Europe, are highly private and temperamental beings, not only because it’s in their nature, but also because of the societal persecutions – the glorified reputation of their otherworldly beauty notwithstanding.

Then again, she’s still part human. He has to construct his message carefully less her version of what she’s going to tell Hermione might not be said in a good light – he is confident enough to assume that they are at least friends, if not close acquaintances, if being invited to their home, and a place with them at the stands was any indication. He can still remember the sensation of sharp protectiveness she asserted when Hermione let him come closer while he was under the Mirage spell, before a sense of relief and inquisitiveness followed at his show of gallantry and respect.

Years of boarding school with nosy students and conspiracies from the press has taught him of the power of misconstrued truth. And may the great sorcerers forbid that he wallow in any more pools of humiliation from interactions with his _custodia_.

The weight in his pocket gave him an idea though. “If you please, send this to her. I promise gift as part of new friendship. When health is good again, I come back.”

When he presented the wrapped bar in his outstretched hand, her eyes softened and hummed in understanding. He let the muscles in his shoulders relax. “I am sure she will receive this…token…of your _friendship_ with appreciation,” she emphasized with a quick, humour-filled glance up at his blank gaze as she levitated the bar to her own hand and tucking it into a tiny purse, hidden away among her skirts.

An Extension Charm in a small portable object? Impressive.

When he inclined his head in silent acknowledgment as well as a salute, she smiled with her eyes before turning to sashay away. He can feel a bead of sweat trickle down his back when he felt a sliver of mischief that suddenly spiked up as she disappeared behind the tree line.

Viktor shook his head, brushing aside the odd memory and putting away his stained practice uniform for the day, hastily jogging back towards camp from the stadium lockers, not wanting to risk Georgi eating his dinner. Again.

“Vinko! There you are. Look at this!”

Mira’s call caught his attention, reaching him almost at the same time as her unusual projected giddiness. Before long, he could see her running towards him in between campfires, fighting a smile, and holding up a small piece of parchment in hand.

But what made Viktor’s heart race were the familiar delicate insects fluttering about a grinning Georgi, who waved at him smugly before beckoning them into their tent’s opening.

* * *

_Cabine Royale, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Hermione took deep, even breaths – mentally cataloguing the slow movement of her chest, the loose tension of her muscles, and the lingering stiffness of her shoulders and back. The memory of her teacher’s soothing voice echoed in the far reaches of the darkness. Her room muffled the morning calls surrounding the Delacour property.

_Feel the air rush into your chest as you breathe in, and how it whirls away as you breathe out._

_Is it smooth, like still water in a calm lake? Or is it coarse, like turbulent water in a running river?_

_Breathe in…and breathe out…Breathe in…and breathe out…In…and out…_

_Observe yourself._

_In…and out…In…and out…_

_Observe your breath._

_In…and out…In…and out…_

_Observe the beat of your heart._

_In…and out…In…and out…_

_Observe your thoughts._

_In…out…_

_Have they slowed?_

_In…out…_

_Has the pace turned quiet?_

_In…out…_

_Let the paths of your mind lead you to peace._

The past few days were excruciating yet enlightening, having to put up with the maddening giggles from the silvery-blonde sisters whenever there was talk about the upcoming match. Her parents either chose to ignore their antics or were ignorant of it, seeming to be more focused on the Delacour couple’s lively dialogue. Hermione still kept an eye on her mother all the same. She’s certain her mother was just really good at hiding what she knows until she has all the facts straight for a discussion, catching people off-guard enough to lower their defenses – a discipline she has yet to emulate. Maybe then she’ll be able to get the boys in less trouble, translating her sensible reasoning into something that would silence their emotionally-driven instincts. She doubts this would entirely stop them of course. But it will help her buy enough time for their brains to catch up. She just has to appeal to Ron’s inner strategist and Harry’s wit.

But all the knowledge in the world couldn’t prepare her for the moment she was presented with the rose oil-infused dark chocolate at the end of dinner – feeling thoroughly mortified and flustered. Her only saving grace was Fleur being merciful enough to give it to her on her way to bed, slyly commenting, “ _Your dessert from your enamored admirer, dear. He will await you when you have recovered, he said._ ”

Hermione can only sputter, knowing if she could at the moment, a violent blush would cover the entirely of her face, “ _Y-you make mistake, Fleur. He’s new friend and-and this is his way of being friendly in his country. I’m sure_ _of it_ _. Just friendly.”_

Fleur just patted her shoulder with a small smile and hummed. “ _As you say~,_ ” before gliding away.

After locking herself in the safety of her room, Hermione carefully opened an edge of the packaging and nibbled on two small squares, taking secret pleasure in the floral aroma and bittersweet taste.

She felt humbled by the thought that this was surely an expensive product – the UK’s national flower may be a rose but they definitely don’t have enough to produce oils – and being the recipient of it from such a celebrated athlete, young as he is, feels like a…singular…experience, if not surreal.

But no. It’s Viktor that gave this to her. The same teen that offered his robes for warmth and another flavor from his precious energizer stash.

A new friend. Like Gabrielle. But…a boy. But not like _her_ boys.

A new friend, but… _different_.

She sighed. She still doesn’t know what to make of him, honestly. He’s nice though. Sensitive. And kind.

Traits that she can rarely associate with any boy she has met so far, whether in abroad or back at home. Jerks, she can readily call them – in the privacy of her mind. Traits she can only dream that her best friends would develop overnight.

Hmm…maybe she’ll add that to the letter she’s composing for Mrs. Lebedeva. They’ve touched on the concept of ‘mindfulness’ before, which isn’t all that different from English manners. Maybe her teacher will know how Hermione could slowly integrate it with her boys without their knowing. A full-on lecture will just go over their heads. Maybe a more subtle approach is needed. Viktor’s very mindful it seems. Even his friend, Gosho – or should she say Georgi, she giggled, remembering Viktor’s annoyed look – was a little more suave in being a gentleman. But he's not as tall as Viktor. 

She cut off her mirth and frowned. Her thoughts circling on the same topic again.

This isn’t healthy.

… _right?_

Which brings to mind her guilt over not keeping her word. Sort of.

She didn’t really promise per se that she’s going to show up the next day after she met his friends. But it was implied nonetheless, with her quick farewell. That is to say, she didn’t regret asking Fleur to offer her apologies in her stead – her pain becoming unbearable during the night, losing precious hours of sleep – but it was a missed opportunity to have a discussion over the Mirage spell Viktor has been using to avoid detection. “An invention of Georgi,” mentioned Viktor in passing. They would have had a conversation by now over the mechanics of creating spells versus simply memorizing what is currently known.

Mira looked more down-to-earth than the Delacour sisters so a conversation with her would have definitely be interesting. They would have to work on the language barrier first though. If given the chance to have girl talk, Hermione’s sure the teen wizards would be uncomfortable about being the in-between mediators, as most boys are with topics they deem too ‘feminine’ for their tastes.

Over the rest of the week, Hermione’s pain finally lessened, and moods less muddled; her mother sweetly comforting her each day and bringing her little treats while her dad brought pots of tea and cheesy jokes – she just whined and groaned about how terrible they are until he laughed away out the door.

At the risk of sounding vain, what made her pause the most during her ‘confinement’ is the surprising condition of her skin – less dry and less redness; radiating with vitality she has never experienced before.

Hermione peaked with one eye over at the remaining chocolate she placed in shaky stasis in her side table drawer. She selfishly contemplated for a split second if she could ask Viktor for more of the exotic flavor. Or maybe she could just search the supermarkets at the imported aisles for a good brand? At least she won’t feel like she’s obligating someone else.

She took care not to ruin the wrapping too much, carefully reaching for it in the precarious perch at the edge of the bed, and savoring the last square with her eyes still closed. When she finished, she tossed the wrapper amongst her things in her luggage below her bed, making sure to aim for the small space at the bottom.

If her mother ever found the crinkled wrappings when she rummages through it – like what any mother would, she suppose, making sure Hermione didn’t forget to pack anything on the way home – , Hermione will just plead innocent and have Gabrielle take the fall – something that’s not uncharacteristic since the little girl is fond of many expensive sweets, and especially likes to poke around for something of Hermione’s she could improve on. _Again_.

When she feels like she has found her calm center after a few more minutes, Hermione opened her eyes and stood up from her lotus position, stretching her arms and legs with a satisfied creak.

Glowing skin aside, she felt better, happily thinking how well her parents have been integrating with the wizarding world – a thought that made her feel a slight pinprick in her eyes every now and then.

Part of her reflections was little Colin Creevey, whose family background is as ordinarily muggle as hers, and his continually awestruck expression on everything magic reminded her of the possibilities for her future – like the fact that starting the next leg of her education in a wizarding school instead of a muggle one will prepare her for a life as a full-fledged witch.

A life she’s not sure her parents are able to go to – until their holiday in France.

As teasingly eccentric the Delacours have been, she appreciated how patient and exuberant they've been to her family, showing the wonders of their magical household. Her mother looked younger in her eager giddiness, especially at the potions that could help her with her gardening. Dad of course welcomed any invitation for a sporting event, even one that has upped the ante on the level of danger and risk of injury. It made him positively ecstatic.

Shaking her head from her musings, she almost missed the low hoot from her windowsill.

Looking up, she smiled as she recognized one of the school’s owls; it’s tufts of long ‘ears’ up, and it’s gaze focused solely on her as it hooted again, pecking on the small package it has near it’s talons.

Hermione can feel her excitement mounting as she hastily rummaged around her shoulder bag, knowing she has a few pieces of owl treats left. She recently fed Hedwig and Hermes when they visited a few days ago with some of Harry’s and Ron’s letters, respectively – she’s a little surprised that Hermes was sent at all considering he’s Percy’s than the whole family’s owl; then again, poor Errol might collapse from the long flight from Egypt. _Egypt._

How delightfully fascinating that read was.

As the Long Eared Owl hooted in appreciation and began to swallow a few pieces of the treats, Hermione carefully opened the letter attached to the package and read through it. The glint of a gold chain quickly made her do a double take when she accidentally opened a corner of the package; a piece of the twine got caught in between her fingers.

-.-.-

_Miss Granger,_

_As we have discussed prior to the official end of the previous school year, I have opened the possibility of a remedial of sorts for the classes you have missed due to your immobile state, and the opportunity for you to take more than the specified number allowed for electives next year._

_Enclosed is a device that has been approved by the Ministry for you to have and to use within school grounds for your third year only. It is a precautionary measure I specified on top of your outstanding academic record in order to be granted permission for its use at all._

_Read the instructions within the package very carefully. I have no doubt you will use your time wisely._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress, HSWW_

-.-.-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I know I don't always mention this but thank you everyone who left reviews (and bookmarked this story). I'm glad to know I make people happy with my ideas. (Edited with some correction on some sentences)
> 
> EDITED 11/28/2020 with requested Translations and Explanations:
> 
> A tree falls the way it leans. - a Bulgarian proverb that essentially means you need to be careful of where you are allied, or rely on, from my understanding. Trainer Valkov is telling Viktor off for not focusing in the most polite way. I can't find the Cyrillic translation.
> 
> Parterre - is a formal garden constructed on a level substrate, consisting of plant beds, typically in symmetrical patterns, which are separated and connected by paths. These started in the 15th century, during the French Renaissance
> 
> Samodivi (самодиви) - plural form of Samodiva (самодива), are woodland fairies or nymphs found in South and West Slavic folklore. They can also be called a 'Vila'.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	15. Summer 1993: The Faith

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Viktor muttered under his breath, cursing for the nth time as he trudged through tightly packed bushes and clumsily hopping over uneven ground, with sweat profusely running down his face. His senses were on high alert, keeping a steady grip on his mostly empty sports bag that’s strapped high on his back as he ruminated on his current predicament.

Last night, after he read about Hermione’s improving health – which he internally rejoiced in – their coach and Trainer Valkov called for everyone’s attention. After checking they have the players’ undivided attention, the coach proceeded to update them on the new security measures that the _Sports Committee on Magical Protection_ put in place for their camp and the stadium as more spectators are projected to arrive in droves for the match in a few days’ time.

Viktor was, at first, surprised they bothered to do this. As a longtime Quidditch fan himself, he knows firsthand how the centuries-old, high-risk sport drew as much people as the skilled free men-at-arms that sought glory during Roman times from across the Adriatic Sea. Although using wands to assault players to death is strictly banned during play in the air – he can’t really comment on the heated skirmishes that happens on the ground – the fact remains that the amount of bloodshed that goes on in the field has always been a crowd pleaser now as it is with the ancient _mugul_ ‘game’. So the presence of magi-guardsmen is obvious and is expected, as is the amount of people that will attend a match that will pit the reigning champions against the, apparent, favorite underdogs in the league.

What isn’t expected though is the hundreds of box seats the French Sports Commission was frantically adding at the last minute. Trainer Valkov added that there were even calls to add seats at the nosebleed section, many willing to risk high altitude sickness for the match.

When murmurs of amazement and feelings of intrigue arose, their coach slyly looked over at Viktor, who froze in getting the plate of food Mira was about to hand to him. Trainer Valkov coughed lowly before explaining that news of their youngest player’s participation in the main roster leaked, and several heads turned even from other continents, showing unexpected interest in the European Championship. The coach and Trainer Valkov then said a few final words before dismissing them for the night.

The entire camp had gone silent, with most players glancing at him furtively or blatantly with a raised brow. He did his best to return their gaze head-on, not really sensing any negative emotions per se, but the urge to slouch again with averted eyes was a strong compulsion. Only the hands that push at his back prevented this – Georgi anticipated his tendency to hide from attention.

It’s not that Viktor doesn’t get along well with his team. On the contrary, aside from Captain Vulchanov’s brief interrogation when they first met, he developed an easy camaraderie with them. This was especially comforting during the long, grueling days of training where they are all equally tested on their physical and mental endurance. And despite being the only fledgling in the flock, he never felt like they treated him like a child. They encouraged and educated him; never called him demeaning names or disparaged him for still being a student. They just saw his potential and worked on how to best integrate him into their circle.

It’s with this thoughtfulness that made him want to never disappoint them, training until his entire body smoked – at least not at the Institute. Those weeks at the healing hall were exceedingly boring, regardless of the frequent visits from his friends. It was also a good thing he’s always ‘asleep’ whenever the Highmaster comes to visit. He doesn’t know how those ‘meetings’ will turn out if he’s ‘awake’.

The loud bark of laughter from their Captain suddenly broke the tension.

“Hahaha ! That face ! Viktor, we would have thought you’d be thrilled and flattered at the attention you’re getting, not look as if you’re mourning over your carrier falcon’s death that died in front of you.”

“Not particularly. No,” Viktor said in a deadpan, quickly glancing at said bird of prey that’s snoozing peacefully on his perch inside their tent. “I’m just thinking I need to be more creative.”

“With your infamous escapes? I don’t doubt that!” Captain Vulchanov chortled again.

It’s then Viktor noticed that everyone else is laughing and smiling, some even giving him pressed thumbs for his future excursions, and using said fists to lightly punch him on the arms or back as he pass by to collect his dinner.

Finally letting out the breath he unconsciously withheld, he took his team mates’ teasing in stride, rolling his eyes at the babble about getting more sponsors because of him. It’s not that it’s unrealistic – more often than not, when individual players are recognized for something or other, the entire team gets their share in the wand light. He just doesn’t want to get ahead of himself.

Although…

The corner of his lips tugged up slightly as he felt the crinkle of parchment in his pocket.

It might not be too bad to…demonstrate his best a little more in this particular game. But that might cost them the cup – and maybe his life – so he’ll keep his prancing as reasonable as possible – high winds and two one-hundred-and-fifty-pound speeding iron orbs aside.

If he can figure out how to do that effectively and not make a fool out of himself that is. He shuddered at the thought that he might need to ask Georgi for advice.

As if listening in on his thoughts, the rowdy duo bantered about Viktor’s imminent ‘appointment’ as they retreated into their tent, taking them longer than usual to settle down, and leaving a mess of his clothes strewn about the carpeted floor. Only a white shirt with red and black Bulgarian embroidery down the long sleeves, dark brown leather waistcoat, dark pants and matching boots was the outfit that met Mira’s and Georgi’s careful scrutiny.

The odd late night should have been an indication to him of the series of events that is about to unfold the following day. But the allure of – what he thinks is – cloud-soft, golden-brown curls, the image of shy eyes, and the heat of small blushes pulled him deep into his dreams, surrendering unconditionally into oblivion.

As he woke, slowly and hazily, he mindlessly stared at the bright canopy above him for what felt like an eternity. He knitted his brows, wondering why the thought of the sun shining down on the tent felt wrong somehow.

Wait… _sun?_

With a sudden rush of blood in his veins, he stumbled over to his equipment, ignoring the black spots in his vision as he looked for his practice clothes in a panic. After finding his bag was empty except for a few items, he groaned while rubbing at his face. He remembered the couch and Trainer Valkov gave them all a rare free day since the stadium will be used by the home team today – and just one day? They’re even more conceited than he thought.

When his head hit the pillow again, he eyes closed for one split second before flickering wide open, hurrying to get to the floating clothes off his dresser, the slight rumble of his stomach reminding him why he had to endure Mira’s and Georgi’s nitpicking in the first place.

When he dashed from the tent with a shake of his head, he half-wittedly thought to wash his face at the lake, thinking that the cold water would wake the rest of him up quicker.

He should have known that was his second mistake.

The noisy clatter of feet and rush of different levels of excitement had him swiveling his head at the source, staring in growing horror at the visitors’ camp he forgot about was just _meters away_. He realized he walked farther from the players’ camp than he should have, standing at the side of the lake that was closest to the organized plot of land reserved for spectators and journalists.

The nearest witches that were initially caught off-guard at his appearance rapidly projected strong feelings of delight and desire, almost making him physically shrink back. Instead, with careful movements, he made an about-face, unconsciously brushing water into his hair as he cleared his vision. Only his eyes roamed in all directions as he stoically started walking away, searching for the quickest route into the forest all while pretending this is part of his normal routine.

He did his best to ignore the mixed emotions coming off from the growing crowd, as well as the feel of appreciative eyes at his back, treading carefully like the bird their team is named after among watchful hunters – his publicist nagged him about calling them predators when he heard Viktor mutter about it some time ago. He doesn’t apply that to all of them, he defended. But he’s not wrong about the most invasive of them. The older wizard just pursed his lips in thought and amended, “As long as it’s not out loud, please. You need to save face.”

Sighting a break in the tree line, his brisk walk turned into a jog, ignoring the calls for his name from familiar voices near the players’ camp.

It’s then he realized his third mistake – he forgot his wand.

He sprinted then, thanking the great wizards of old for his endurance and strength training. He can at least outrun the crazies until he can find a good hiding spot.

After what felt like hours of sneaking and lurking, here he is now – wherever here is – trying to catch his breath, hiding his presence as best as he can by pulling the leaves closer to the limb he’s perched on, and feeling utterly disappointed he won’t be able to see his _custodia_. His state is not even fit to be seen by her. From the position of the sun, he deduced its way over lunch time and she would have been back at the Delacours by now. His body slumped against the rough bark of the tree trunk, slowly coming off of his high.

Although he can’t feel anything from his position so far, without the Mirage spell, he won’t be able to let his guard down for anything until…maybe…sundown…

A deep growl from his stomach made him thud his head back repeatedly.

Looks like he’s in for a long, _long_ wait.

-{-}-

“ _I do not know, Gabrielle. It is late._ ”

“ _So? If he is half the gentleman big sister makes him out to be, he should not go away without a, how you English say, ‘by-your-leave’. Even if that means he goes hungry,_ ” Gabrielle reasoned without remorse, directing their family’s familiars ahead of them. The youngest Delacour is determined she should be involved in any more ‘development’ with her new friend, not wanting to miss anything that goes under her nose. Again.

Hermione just sighed and shook her head, hiding the wry smile from the little witch who might interpret it as encouragement. She unconsciously played with the chain on her left wrist as she and Gabrielle rambled towards her ‘reading nook’.

No matter what she said at this point, Hermione’s certain that the silvery-blonde whirlwind will do whatever she wants, including meddling in her non-existent love life. She’s oddly flattered at Gabrielle’s indignation when she told her about the lack of attention she garners from the boys back in Hogwarts though.

Well, as far as she knows anyway. But she’s at least ninety percent convinced that they don’t go for the bookish type. The sporty ones? Definitely. Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell’s popularity is proof of this.

But if she were to really think about it, she assumes someone like Percy seems ideal. He seems very committed in his relationship, and his drive for excellence makes him a good role model. She doesn’t doubt he’ll make Head Boy this coming year.

Or maybe someone as loving and affectionate as her dad. He’s very thoughtful to mother, but he’s an absolute goofball to her – the price of being his daughter. But no matter how bad his humor is, and no matter how much she might complain about it, she knows it’s always with the best intentions.

Or maybe like...

A flash of Mr. Lebedev’s profile made her blush, making Gabrielle look up and narrow her eyes in suspicious. Hermione just shook her head with a wave of dismissal.

It seems shallow but, she can’t deny her teacher’s husband is, simply put, a beautiful man, even with greying hair. Or should she say whitening hair?

She can’t imagine him being in anything less elegant than his three piece suits that he wears like a uniform. Even Fleur looked over in interest after he escorted them to the inn. His looming height though is intimidating yet…protective? Hermione can’t help but feel safe whenever he's around at the studio while she’s in session with Mrs. Lebedeva. A silent, yet comforting presence.

All this aside, these things are not a priority. She still needs to decide how many electives she’ll take and where to find the necessary references. Her studies are more fascinating than boys can ever be.

At least…up to this point, she silently admitted. But…

She lifted her wrist again, the twinkle of golden light reflecting against her skin.

After studying the instructions of this peculiar little trinket several times in her bedroom, she opted to ask the Delacour couple on their opinion of such a device and if they’ve heard of it before.

“ _How very peculiar. Very peculiar indeed_ ,” rumbled Monsieur Lucien while rubbing at his little goatee.

“ _How so? Does this not mean that she is an exceptional student, no? Like our dear girls_ ,” Madam Apolline said fondly, beaming towards her daughters over the breakfast table. Fleur flicked her hair with a slight nod in response while Gabrielle raised her nose up with a proud smile.

Monsieur Lucien chuckled. “ _Of course!_ _And all our new friends are exceptional! But ah, this…well, this is another matter entirely,”_ he continued with raised brows. _“_ I am not sure how wise this is, even if it is sanctioned by your Ministry, Miss Hermione,” he commented, reverting to English when he glanced at her parents.

“What do you mean, Lucien? Should we be worried?” her dad interjected, setting his morning cuppa down.

“No. No worries. Not really anyway. But this is the first time I heard this is used for academic purposes. And for a student no less. _You have to understand, time is still a mystery, even for us. We’re able to measure it by the fall of the sun and rise of the moon; develop the concept of sequences and events; progress and history; but to absolutely dedicate oneself to studying it? To manipulate it? Only a few has seriously paid it mind – time magic I mean. It would take more than one’s lifetime to comprehend honestly._

And let’s not get started about immortality! Monsieur Flamel will be able to answer that better. But from what we heard, any year now, he and his lovely beloved will be able to rest. Shame really. His almost seven centuries worth of knowledge would have made for an interesting conversation.” Monsieur Lucien nodded, with a thoughtful raise of his cup. The pause gave her mother the chance to translate the other sentences to make the gist of the conversation more sensible for dad.

Hermione fidgeted, remembering what Harry said about his conversation with the Headmaster in the school infirmary two years ago. She doesn’t suppose revealing about the destruction of the Philosopher’s Stone is an appropriate topic addition so she kept silent.

“ _Time itself is rarely, if ever, tampered with,”_ Monsieur Lucien continued, “ _and unlike your Ministry, we don’t necessarily have many of those things. We don’t feel we need to. We believe everything runs at its own course, at its own pace._

What’s the safety threshold again, dear?”

“It says maximum of five, Monsieur.”

“Ah yes. _To prevent any significant changes to the progression, no?_ To answer your question better, William, Time-Turners, despite the bewitchment done on the magical artifacts, are still considered _unstable_ magic. Or more accurately, the _charm_ in place is unstable. If you ever insisted – but I’m not saying you will, dear – on going beyond the stated limit, serious consequences can happen, not only to you but also the people around you. Possibly. Probably.

We can’t really comprehend time or its consequences – _aside from the certainty of death after your time is up_ ,” Monsieur Lucien started to chuckle at his quip but quickly turned it into coughs after seeing the Grangers wide-eyed stares, “so, ehem, certain laws are in place to make sure we don’t alter anything, uhh, too life changing.”

Her mother shook her head. “Not too life changing? I think otherwise. _Our daughter’s life is on the line here_ ,” her mother said firmly, hands holding on tightly to the table cloth. Hermione noticed her dad closed one of his hands over hers, soothing her mother down, before feeling his eyes on her and the Delacours with a rare grave expression.

Hermione can only avert her own down to her lap, the golden chain in her hands stretching as she played with it. She can’t blame her parents for being so worried. They’ve already discussed at length to continue her education despite the risks – an apparent by-product of the unpredictability of magic, and possibly because of her association with Harry. That last idea though wasn’t really a strong contention with her parents. They simply think he’s at the wrong place at the wrong time; and being discouraged from exploring his potential because of his relations just adds to their sympathy for him.

“So, the point is, as long as Hermione is within the limits, or at best, limits herself to only one or two hours, she’ll be alright?” Hermione understood the last one was a request directed at her so she nodded, not wanting to make them worry more than they should. The French couple smiled at them around their mouthfuls, murmuring their agreement as well.

After taking a deep breath, her mother turned to her, reaching out to brush a few curly strands out of her eyes with familiar affection. “Just to be clear, we’re not trying to dictate you, my heart. I’m still edgy about this but…thinking it over, you should give it a go, yeah? Your Head of House must have gone through a massive amount of paperwork just to get you this. So, it’s definitely no doddle. Its good manners to reciprocate with the best grades you can possibly earn. Let’s just, let’s just hope this year won’t go pear-shaped on you. Goodness, you haven’t had a good track record.”

“ _Record? What kind?”_ piped Gabrielle with great curiosity, after her older sister patiently translated the conversation. Although, she avoided much of the colloquialism that were just positively… _English_.

The Grangers smiled humorously at each other before Hermione volunteered to relay the…interesting…bits of her wizarding school life so far.

“’Ermione! _Look! How strange. Why would they fly up to there_?”

“What?”

They both looked around, seeing the flutter move up in synchronized formation, like how hundreds of birds would move if one or a hundred of them would change course from one way to another. They swirled and spun, until forming a somewhat straight pattern towards the leaves up above, towards one cluster of branches –

“ _Ax? Kakvo e tova?_ ”

“ _Youpi! See? The swallows never fail at finding._ ”

“ _That’s him? He sounds…off. Did they hurt him?_ Can _they hurt him?_ ”

“‘Ermione. _Be serious. They are such sweetlings. They cannot harm anything bigger than them._ ”

“ _At this point, I would believe anything is possible with magical creatures. They can drink, I don’t know, blood, for all I know._ ”

“ _Now you are being very silly. It’s not_ just _blood. Butterflies, magical or not, are also attracted to sweat and tears from living things, while they also get their nutrition from mud –_ ”

“ – I beg your pardon me? – ”

“ – _and from rotting plants and carcasses. It is common behavior. An act of survival while they live for a limited time._ ”

“…”

“ _They can live up to a year. Or one species of them I think. I forgot the name._ ”

“…”

“ _Coucou?_ ‘Ermione? _Are you listening?_ ”

“…I don’t think I can see butterflies the same way again,” Hermione said faintly, eyeing the small flutter on her right arm, trying to scrub the sudden image of bloodstains on delicate wings.

“ _What did you say? You are being very rude. You know I do not understand English yet._ ”

“I am sorry for disturbing, ladies. _Voda_ …water…do you have?” a slight cough followed.

The girls started and looked up, into the eyes of a very bedraggled yet smiling teenager. They moved back quickly, the rustling of leaves their only warning before he, rather ungracefully, landed in front of them, using the trunk of the tree to help steady himself before he offered them a low bow. With his…interesting…appearance, he could only offer this much courtesy to them, which is a thoughtful enough gesture on his part.

“Viktor?”

“Good afternoon, Hermione. You are looking better now. Much healed, yes? And, may I be introduced to friend?”

“Oh this is – ”

“Gabrielle. Gabriel Delacour. _I am youngest_ ,” the little witch interjected, rightfully assuming that she’s being presented and made a small curtsy, eyeing his opened waistcoat, and hastily rolled up sleeves.

“ _A._ _Sister of Mademoiselle Delacour, yes? You look same. No doubt you pretty as her when you grow._ ” He said in heavily accented French, but the confidence in his voice, and the compliment to her and her beloved sister made Gabrielle warm up to him instantly.

“You don’t look so good. Here, sit down now. We’re safe here. We’re still on Delacour grounds,” Hermione said absently as she concentrated on slowly enlarging her tumbler of water while walking up to the athlete. “Have you eaten yet before you went gallivanting in the woods? Where are your friends?”

“There is…funny story – ”

“ – mhm. Of course there is,” This sounds familiar. Are all boys alike? “ _Gabrielle? Can I ask for a favor? Can you –_ ”

“ – _say no more! I understand perfectly. But we believe you have to put much work on this yourselves, no? I can only guide you. So I shall give you, say, one hour. It is appropriate. Perhaps I will be more successful than big sister to –_ ”

“ _Wait. No. No no no_ ,” Hermione quickly negated as she spun around, wagging her finger at the mischievous smile on an otherwise innocent façade, knowing what the little witch is implying. She knitted her brows though when she noticed Viktor’s shoulders shaking at the corner of her eye.

Is he…laughing? Oh no. He can still _understand_ …! Oh this is so embarrassing…

…or, maybe he’s that famished? Hermione knows she read somewhere about the effects of starvation.

She’ll hope for the latter then. It’s easier to resolve.

“ _I was going to say you stay here while I go get some… sand…wiches…_ ” Hermione trailed off, staring blankly at the space where the little silvery-blonde was supposed to be. The synchronized movement of the delicate insects around them went towards the general direction of the cabin, the only sign of their little miss’s current whereabouts.

Viktor let out a deep chuckle at her baffled expression, trying to tame his dark locks flat against his skull in the process. He’s...not bad looking with slicked-back hair. “She is surely…what is word…ah…she has more…energy?”

Hermione just let out a quick puff of exasperated air. “‘Energetic’ is the word you’re looking for. And quite. Now,” she said, straightening her back. She offered him a handkerchief as she plopped down near him, legs crossed in front of her and back to the tree, much like what he’s doing except he bent one leg up and rested an arm on the knee, her tumbler on one hand, still untouched, “Ready to tell me what happened?” she said with raised brows.

“Well, today many trouble. Stadium is being used by other team. This, not problem. But what should be relaxing day is not relaxing. You are here now so all is well. I am available. I am at your disposal,” he said as he minutely caressed the cloth in his other hand before gingerly patting it on his forehead.

Hermione tilted her head and raised a brow, confused for a moment at the expectant light in his eyes. Shrugging off the confusing disconnection in his words, she thought over instead her usual set of questions whenever her best friends are deflecting, trying to avoid a telling-off from her. “Want me to guess then? Where is your wand?”

He paused before clearing his throat, suddenly interested in straightening out his sleeves.

“Thought so. And going out and about with more people nowadays without that spell you use was a good idea?”

“‘Good idea’…is very strong description.”

Hermione sighed, reaching over to bat his hands away from his left sleeve, rolling it up neatly herself, all while pointedly eyeing her tumbler for him to drink. Boys. So pigheaded. The lot of them. Is common sense _that_ uncommon? Can never get a straight answer.

Hermione continued muttering under her breath, gesturing he turn to face her more, making it easier to fix his other sleeve. He complied silently, although she narrowed her gaze at him when she noticed his still smiling eyes over the rim of stainless steel as he took a slow drink.

“And is that leather? No wonder you look overheated. Just take it off and you’ll feel better.”

He opened his mouth with a teasing glint in his eye before shaking his head. He smiled again and did as he was told.

Well. At least he actually listens. Maybe he could give the boys a run for their galleons when it comes to discipline. Then again, that’s needed for his career. Speaking of…

“As an athlete, you shouldn’t neglect your health. I recognize the concept of cheat days where you can eat whatever but you shouldn’t skip any meals.”

“I am lucky then that I not have ‘cheating days’ yet. Trainer Valkov let me eat until I am satisfied, knowing my body needs more from many types of food; we have many vegetable dishes, not just meat. I have healthy meals. You should try; might like. I can still grow bigger with my current intake.”

“Aren’t you already tall for your age?”

“ _Ne_. Can still grow much tall.”

“‘Taller’.”

“ _Da!_ ”

As the two went on to discuss the finer points of home meals, proper nutrition, and family genes – with Hermione relaxing her bearing when Viktor didn’t bat an eye at her reluctantly admitted blood status as she mentioned muggle jobs like Dietitians and Nutritionists – a soft coo went unnoticed from another tree.

-{-}-

Yuuya kept an interested watch over the curious sight, puffing up his collar as he patiently waited for Hermione to give him an opening to deliver the letter he brought from his wise mistress.

He's also deciding whether to at least pull on the little apprentice’s dress to make them eat the still overlooked basket full of food that appeared in a whirl of butterflies right at their feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Flirty Viktor is a win, yey?
> 
> Finally got this out! I only found out about the annual 'Back to Hogwarts' event. (I...didn't know that was a thing?) The new merchandise got me 'window shopping' longer than expected. (edited to correct some sentences)
> 
> EDITED 11/28/2020 with Translations and Explanations:
> 
> free men-at-arms - Viktor is referring to the Gladiators. They're not always Prisoner of Wars, like some movies depict. There are those that actually trained to do battle at the Coliseum. Some, for the sake of fame and glory. Some, for the money and prestige. And some, to fight for their lives.
> 
> nosebleed section - North American term pertaining to seats of a public area, usually an athletic stadium or gymnasium, that are highest and, usually, farthest from the desired activity. And usually, the cheapest.
> 
> In smoke, smoke is rising (ta pushek se vdiga, та пушек се вдига) - Bulgarian saying which means when you do something in smoke, it means you are doing it really intensely, as if you were one of those cartoon characters who run so fast that you can see smoke under their feet.
> 
> pressed thumbs - for some countries, like Bulgaria, this is a gesture meaning 'good luck!' or 'wishing you luck!'. The equivalent of this would be crossed fingers.
> 
> wand light - eehh, trying to be witty again. Equivalent of Spot light. Its either this or 'Lantern light', which doesn't really flow well.
> 
> cuppa - British slang for 'cup of (coffee)'
> 
> doddle - British slang for 'a very easy task'
> 
> to go pear-shaped - British idiom meaning 'to go wrong', or 'to fail miserably'.
> 
> Какво е това (kakvo e tova) - Bulgarian for 'What is that?'
> 
> Youpi! - French interjection that's the equivalent of 'Yehey!'.
> 
> Swallows - Gabrielle meant their Swallowtail butterflies. Also her facts about their...dietary requirements are real.
> 
> coucou - French interjection that's the equivalent of 'yoohoo?'
> 
> Flutter - a group of butterflies
> 
> voda (вода) - 'water' in Bulgarian
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> \- Reine


	16. Summer 1993: The Disquiet

_(Disguised) St. Ronan's Church, Rònaigh an Daimh, Na h-Eileanan Siar_

“ _Sō desu ne~_ I understand the appeal.”

Amidst the loud crashing of waves, and call of seabirds and grey seals, the soft, melodious comment drifted in, like the wisps of smoke from freshly-brewed tea.

Looking around in quiet interest, with a hand resting in her husband's elbow, the speaker appeared through a fog, wrapped in an elegant, salmon-pink traditional dress, richly decorated in hand-stitched depictions of various coloured flowers at the bottom, and a thick-furred, short overcoat over her shoulders. Her coiffed hair was perfectly secured by a silver pin – the delicate, metal crane unyielding despite the occasional winds – and a hair comb with painted white swans, necks-entwined, made sure to keep her companion’s warming spell in place.

“Endlessly damp, salty air with a touch of isolation? I did not know your tastes deteriorated while I wasn’t looking,” countered a wry reply. “Or has the pinnacle of your meditations made being right-side up a disorienting endeavor?” her husband further quipped, wearing comparatively thinner garbs compared to the slight witch – simple but still stately, clean cut suit-robes in shades of a cool winter morning. What made it a little more casual were the thin grey shirt underneath and the white bangs that free-fell to partly cover his blue eyes. His unbothered expression in the face of the cold always made the witch at his side pout in envy. It doesn’t help its _normal_ for him to swim during the winter season, she thought drolly. But she’s glad he’s become too busy to do so nowadays.

She’d like to think hiding the vodka also helped deter him from frequenting the activity.

“ _Fuzakenaide,_ you silly bird! I meant for someone like him. This…ah, environ…reflects his reclusive personality perfectly. From what you tell me at least.”

“ _Khm_. That’s putting it mildly. He’s very set in his ways, you see. He can never change.”

She raised a delicate brow, tilting her head up at his impassive face. “I doubt you would stop being on-guard yourself if your life is constantly in danger.”

“Such little faith, _milaya_ ,” he said with fondness. “‘The general who thoroughly understands the advantages that accompany variation of tactics knows how to handle his troops.’ I can certainly be on guard, when the need arises. But I actually make time to relax. You help with that,” he said, a suggestion glinting playfully in his side-glance at his last statement.

The witch rolled her eyes and swiped at his arm good-naturedly. “Don’t flatter me with Sun Tzu, _koi_. And it doesn’t quite apply that way. Now, what did your associate say in his message again?”

“I tells him it’s pure barry of him to invite his bonnie missus for some midday scran in the middle of nowhere!”

The growling call caught the couple’s attention, watching as a limping figure of a man moved steadily towards them, seemingly out of nowhere. After he stopped to scan his surroundings with an especially penetrating eye, he turned his head at them and jerked his walking stick back, beckoning them, before disappearing through, what they assumed, an invisible doorway through the grass and stone ruins.

Giving each other a quick glance, they trudged forward, ignoring the viscous feeling of a protective barrier at a point in the stonework, aware of the thorough examination of their persons for any deadly weapons, magical and not. The ruins of the ancient church faded away in a cloud of vapor, and a worn, wooden interior of a lodge cautiously received them as they stepped fully inside. They idly discerned an almost colorless ripple radiate throughout the room, announcing they brought no ill intent against the owner of the residence.

Taking in her surroundings, the dark-haired witch broke away and took inquisitive steps towards a large, tarnished, gold-coloured antenna with a reflective disk at the end. Her counterpart on the other hand approached their seated host with a fixed gaze, folding his wife’s furred coat over his arm.

“There’s some mince and tatties on the table. It’s all I got so no complaining,” came the brusque invitation.

As his wife continued to poke and prod at the Secrecy Sensor by the door, the foreign wizard replied while absently examining the inactive little glass _Vrednoskop_ next to the dishes, “This is a warmer reception than I thought you’d give us, Alastor. You have grown soft in your retirement.”

A harsh bark left the carved lips of the ex-auror, giving them a frightening smile, made prominent by how slanted it was because of his scars. “Shut ye geggie, you Russian Jessie. You’ve done me a great service once. Don’t expect me to do this again.”

“Charming as always, old goat.”

“Yer older than me you roaster!”

“Now now,” drawled the witch in a light tone, “As touching as this reunion is, gentlemen,” she sat down primly at another available chair with raised brows, eyeing the two _grown men_ with skepticism and slight humor, “may we know why we’re called? Your last message was…well, I believe all your messages are important but this one seems particularly…urgent?”

The muffled thump of his clawed leg and gruff huff were the only signs the Scottish wizard was deeply troubled. “Aye, right you are, _marm_. Can’t really say much for now. Information’s scarce. An order was made for those bloody wraiths,” he whispered vehemently. “Something’s gone wrong. Something big. I just know it.”

The witch knitted her brows, considering how much this was his infamous paranoia or a genuine cause for concern. “Wraiths? Do you mean Lethifolds? Were there sightings here recently? They don’t normally go this far from the tropics.”

“No, _marm_. But yer close. Dementors!” he nearly shouted, spitting out the name as if it’s a curse. “Foulest, soulless creatures this side of the continent. They’re on the move.”

“ _Khm._ Your Ministry still ‘employs’ them to guard that island fortress? If they’ve drifted away, they may be looking for something. Or someone,” the other wizard warned, crossing his arms loosely. “Which in turn means it’s not as impenetrable of a stronghold as you thought it was,” Maksimillian spoke mildly, with a slight upturn of his nose and narrowed eyes, showing his condescension.

“We all can’t have freezing to death as a deterrent, Lebedev! If drowning doesn’t dissuade those dark wizards, the draining will.”

“And for all the criticism you give us for teaching certain types of magic in our country, you yourselves employ such dark beings as capital punishment – if there even is a trial in the first place.”

Letting the men bicker over world politics and ethical practices, Miya turned her eyes down and remained quiet. She slowly put her palm over her _obi_ , conscious suddenly of the letter folded beneath the embroidered layers. With lips turned down delicately, she wondered if this and her student’s unusually acquired magical artifact is mere coincidence.

* * *

_(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“Achoo!”

“ _Nazdrave._ ”

Hermione started, still rubbing her nose with a handkerchief, but resisted turning her head as she quickly went through her mental roll call.

It shouldn’t be either of her parents. They’re still back in the cabin with the Delacour couple, citing they’ll let her decide what to get them on her shopping trip – maybe some binoculars if there are any? If their seats are as high up as Monsieur Lucien has been fervently talking about, they’d need to get some of those to see better.

The Delacour sisters on the other hand are nowhere to be found. They’ve been dragging her everywhere, especially at the various street food stalls set up. She can’t fault them. Many are very delectable to the sight and smell. But at the rate Gabrielle has been feeding her different meats with commentary that would rival any passionate epicure, she’s afraid she might pack in more weight than her petite form can hold.

So that eliminates the people closest to her. So who else would address her in the middle of a crowd?

By the cadence of the word, it doesn’t sound like any French word she has ever heard. As the sun rose higher in the sky, more people mingled about – in quite a variety of languages now that she paid attention. It made the space between the camping grounds and the stadium reasonably festive. But considering she’s been honing her senses to detect any form of shenanigans that might involve her – courtesy of Ron and Harry – she concludes that there is only one other person, in this general area, that would have enough nerve to do something that her best friends would do, to the extent of having the equivalent of an invisibility cloak on him –

“Two yellow birds are telling me you are here,” an amused voice announced, a presence now felt at her left-hand side, “I can accompany you, yes?”

It’s only a couple of days now before the match and new stalls have been popping-up – literally – to sell an assortment of merchandise next to the camping ground. Fleur and Gabrielle tittered excitedly during breakfast when Madame Apolline announced it at the garden table, which meant Hermione had to mentally prepare herself for the inevitable magical shopping spree to be had. Just thinking about the arm-pulling those two will do already made her arm muscles hurt.

On a positive note, it’s nearly Harry’s birthday. Surely his growing love for Quidditch will make any purchase here be a good gift. She just needs to figure out which one is practical but still ‘fun’, as Ron would put it. Her parents already loaded her purse with extra coins, showing their support for the plan, but sternly expressed she should definitely get something for herself as well.

Hermione had just finished deciding on her routes after organizing the stall plotting in her head before the tall seeker with a penchant for escapism found her in between a pencraft supply stall – that has quite a collection of very pretty quills on display – and a sports apparel stall – whose saleswizard had been enthusiastically trying to guess her team-support colors by trying to sell her both.

With his timely appearance, it undoubtedly made clear what set off the silvery-blonde witches abruptly, claiming to have seen a schoolmate at a distance and floated away, leaving Hermione to her own devices in the wake of their sly giggling and swish of bright skirts.

Hermione should have known those two were up to no good again – her mischief senses were absolutely tingling. She doesn’t know if it’s because they’re decidedly French or they just convinced themselves there’s something there between the older boy and herself even though there’s certainly nothing at all. _Nothing_ at all.

_Right?_

From what she deduced from his constant visits for the past few days, the fact he couldn’t sense her emotions gave him some level of peace. So she’s just being a good friend; keeping him company and offering him a stimulating conversation on school life to pass the time.

Hermione doesn’t entirely understand the disappointed twinge she felt in her chest at the last thought.

She does wonder though if he’s willing to be a penpal of sorts – or quill-pal? Gabrielle already insisted they should be that once Hermione and her parents went home. Viktor and his friends have such a fascinating viewpoint of magical use in their country that it would be such a shame to lose that connection.

Whatever form that connection may be.

A quick remembrance of tangy, bitter chocolate, and a flash of focused attention from dark, kind eyes made her hand grip tighter around her bag.

Hermione shook her head – to dispel her confusing thoughts, but also to silently show him her consent – and headed towards another random stall, keeping to one side of the path, knowing he must be under that Mirage spell again, affording him a somewhat normal walkabout in a crowd full of fans without getting mobbed. She couldn’t hear his booted feet at all.

At least it seems the teen actually listens to her lecture about being careful – unlike _some_ people. She felt him swerve silently with the ebb and flow of people while still keeping in step with her. She’ll admit he’s as stubbornly daring as her boys, if not more so because of his occupation.

And she’s not entirely sure that’s a bad thing.

But she guesses Viktor’s main motivator for listening to her, like all men, is food – she can recount him nearly wolfing down the basket-full of cheese, bread, and cake the day she helped him, if not for Yuuya’s sudden appearance in a whirl of wing slaps and peculiar growling, dropping a letter conveniently at her lap in the process.

She never knew doves could growl. She always thought they’re too mild mannered to produce such a sound. Is it because he’s magical?

Then again, she remembered the humorous scene that involved a man in a suit running away from a tenacious flock, hollering madly as she and her parents jogged by on their way home from Mrs. Lebedeva’s studio.

“He must be part of parliament,” dad had idly commented.

Mother and daughter just shared a questioning glance before he continued, “Because that’s quite an attempted _coo_ if I ever saw one. Ey? _Eyy?_ ”

Hermione and her mum didn’t hold back in shoving him away with twin groans and marched passed him in a hurry.

But exotic avian noises and behavior aside, in her rush to read any words of wisdom from her teacher, Hermione became too preoccupied to notice the fancy pigeon’s efforts of making sure she has her share of the snacks, vaguely hearing low indignant yelps in between small grunts and flapping wings. Only when she got to the tail-end of her letter did she finally look up and take in the source of a struggle.

Hermione blinked. Is she getting tired? She went to rub at her eyes before staring at the scene before her again.

Slowly, it dawned on her the irony of what’s happening: Yuuya, with feet squared, brown feathered collar standing up, chest out, facing off against a tall, magical human, who was clutching a bag in front of him like a shield, and a wary expression resolutely fixated on the fancy pigeon’s position on the grass.

This went on for so long that a snicker suddenly escaped her, followed by a giggle or two in between her fingers, before she finally let out a loud laugh, her arms holding on to her sides in support, her face and neck turned warm, and tears ran down her cheeks. The comical picture of Viktor’s messier appearance – highlighted with white feathers sticking out of his hair – and incredulous stare at the puffed up bird made her absolutely tickled.

She hasn’t laugh like that in what seemed like forever.

The last two years of school haven’t exactly given her that much reason to. Maybe expressing relief for surviving another year, or a proud smile at her stellar grades, but not like this where she felt so...carefree. So buoyant. Her heart felt unusually light, despite feeling the older boy’s burning gaze at her face.

It was...it was nice.

“Viktor?” Hermione hissed, barely moving her lips, walking slowly around a balloon vendor, mindful of which side of the path he’s on and giving him room to adjust. “Didn’t you say you had press events the whole day today? Did you finish early?”

“Hmm… _Ne. Da._ Both? Pictures finished this morning. Solo and group. Interviews will be in afternoon. But publicist say I can…how you say…skip? Saying since it is only whispers that I am on main roster, I can be good secret until game. Keep journalists guessing, he says, even if tickets sold more seats than expected.

You are looking for gifts for friends, yes? Or for yourself? Scarves are very good. If you want. They keep warm any time in year. In stadium, high winds are expected. Best you wear on day of game. Best idea to wear brown and black to be exact,” he mildly encouraged, an obvious smile in his voice.

Hermione had to suppress a grin, feeling generous enough to not call him out on making her wear his team’s colors. It’s rather silly of him; as if he doesn’t have enough supporters as it is.

“What if you accidentally get seen again? You said the stadium boundary counteracted Georgi’s spell when we met,” she diverted, doing her best to stall-shop. Maybe Ginny would like something too, if only to cheer her up after her experience in the Chamber. “And we’re in close proximity with the stadium. It would be dangerous for you when you get swarmed. Again,” she let out a small giggle.

Viktor hummed, moving a little closer to her side as he sidestepped a big group of French supporters. “ _Ne_. Gosho made it better. I will be like ghost. No worry.”

“You know, with his talents, he can be a good Auror someday. Or even a Curse-Breaker. I read in a pamphlet at our wizarding bank that there’s a ‘substantial, danger-related treasure bonuses’ to be had in that profession,” she whispered absently, almost to herself, as she turned to see a stall selling interesting knickknacks of fluttery rosettes, shouting out, what she assumes, are the names of the players. She can clearly hear a squeaked ‘Krumov!’ in the Striking Snipe colored ones.

Viktor chuckled lowly, making Hermione almost shudder, feeling his breathe near her ear. She took a subtle step away, clearing her throat, trying to be more attentive to what he’s saying. “He will feel..gratitude?...flat-flattered? Yes, flattered. He will be feeling flattered you would think this. But he does what he wants. He likes to surprise.”

“Well! I can’t believe someone like him would invent this advanced of a spell so he certainly surprised me.”

“ _A_ , now you will be breaking his heart if he hears this.”

Furrowing her brows, Hermione turned her head slightly towards his voice, endeavoring to look busy fiddling at a few flashy, hanging items and said in a hard tone to hide her unease, “Do you report everything I have to say to your friends?” She may have come a long way in overcoming certain anxieties when dealing with people; nevertheless, she doesn’t think she will ever be comfortable knowing people talk behind her back.

“ _Aylyak, aylyak_ ,” he emphasized softly, giving a few of her curls trailing down her back a few light tugs while his other hand gave her a small pat at her shoulder. “No worry, no worry. Just good things. I promise. And you made good face at first meeting, they say. So it is difficult to change their judgment.”

“Good face?”

“ _A_...I meaning…im-press? They can see…you have good sense?”

“Oh. I made a good impression?” she clarified, relaxing her shoulders; just comprehending she had involuntarily tensed up. “That’s…that’s very lovely of them. Thank you.”

-{-}-

Ah, such an adorable blush. And her hair is such an interesting texture. So soft, Viktor noted. Better than clouds. He unguardedly looked at her with a big smile on his face, reflecting.

Since that day she cared for him at his most vulnerable – discounting that episode with her guard…pigeon? He knows his best friends will never live it down if he told them about it – he felt like he could walk on air for the following days. The more he’s getting to know his _custodia_ , the more hopeful he became. But the more hopeful his mindset, the more he starts getting impatient, wondering how he could tactfully request to maintain communication. He doesn’t know how much longer he could delay a response for his intrigued mother.

If his father starts getting involved, he’d have no choice but to give in and blurt out – on paper or through fireplace, whichever way their message goes through first – all that’s been going on, and risk having them rush him to secure Hermione as soon as possible before she’s ready for any type of commitment.

On the other hand, after finding out she lives in the United Kingdom, thanks to the helpful hints from the Veela sisters, which is a shorter distance than he expected, plans started forming in his head. An inquiry on his parents’ contacts there would be useful for his future endeavours.

But he knows laying the groundwork for a solid connection takes time – judging from his family’s history as well as his observation of his parents’ loving marriage – like how he can’t just catch the Snitch too early until his entire team is ready for victory. He wants to see to it that once Hermione is mentally and emotionally engaged to be wooed, he’d show her he would be the best, and hopefully, the only candidate in her sight. In the meantime, he will remain patient and attentive, and most importantly, mindful of her youth – judging from the grade level of her summer assignments – and her own vulnerabilities at that impressionable age. Any wrong move on his part may make her turn away from any and all relationships altogether.

But for all his planning, he suspects he’s not making it obvious enough for the little witch to know that he’s interested and available.

_Very_ interested, and _very_ available.

For her.

Maybe she’s intimidated by his growing fame? He can understand if she was. Even he feels daunted at the prospect of his privacy being intruded on in the future. He knows this and have prepared accordingly. His team mates advised him on how crucial it is to put up a public persona to protect his private life, and his trainer had counseled him already about keeping his integrity, and about never giving in to the trappings of the sport – or he’ll soundly work Viktor to the bone for being a disgrace.

Or maybe she’s taken already? She mentioned a Harry and a Ronald a fair few times…

No no no. He’s becoming foolish. Hermione never acted as if she already has someone in her life. And she’s too honest to deceive him. He already experienced girls – and strangely, some women – that implied they can ‘give him a good time’ even though they’re already bonded to another. He’s disgusted by those the most; the feelings of brazen hunger and greed coming off of them, wanting to boast they were able to sleep with a Quidditch player, or possibly trap him into an inescapable public relationship. Or both.

But Hermione is too pure for such a thing.

And her male friends? Well. We’ll see. He’ll just train more to improve his physique, just in case. He’s confident he can still grow a few more inches.

He’ll also take a passing peak at some of the subjects she seemed interested in the most once he returns to the Institute. And maybe some other things she hasn’t seen yet.

Finally, maybe – and he thinks this is the most likely theory – she’s very oblivious of her overall appeal – even if that might be his bias talking again – and it doesn’t help that he’s not quite sure what’s on her mind most of the time except for schoolwork.

Viktor froze suddenly before he inaudibly grunted, reflexes suddenly kicking in as he sharply pulled at Hermione’s blouse, practically lifting her away as a practice broom suddenly halted at exactly where she was standing. Forgetting he cannot be seen, he scowled as he faced the perpetrator, only to relax his brow in surprise as he witnessed Hermione helping up a small child, who hopped up and down, and pointed excitedly at the broom. The little boy babbled a careless, yet adorable apology, before jumping onto his broom and took off, shocking some other wizards and witches in the process.

Viktor sighed in relief, before he instinctively moved away just in time for a harried bundle of female energy suddenly apparating next to Hermione, making her squeal cutely in surprise. From what he can tell, the newcomer is the boy’s mother, inquiring if his _custodia_ has seen her son. Hermione gave calm and assuring directions to the stressed matron. The older witch nodded and stepped away quickly, shouting out her apologies over her shoulder, and disappearing in a whirl – with Hermione looking on where she stood in awe and curiosity.

Oh? She has not seen someone apparate before? That’s very interesting to know.

When he walked closer again and wordlessly placed her purse back in her hands – making it seem as if she performed wandless magic – and preparing for any complaints that she may have at being almost run over, Hermione just looked up at the approximate space where his head is and smiled beautifully, a slight tinge of pink on the apple of her cheeks, and mouthing her thanks. She quickly squeezed the hand he kept near hers before turning back around to a vendor – as if nothing was amiss – and purchased some sweets shaped in various sport equipages: brooms, bludgers, quaffles, a snitch, some hoops, and the like.

“Viktor, do you think they sell binoculars here? They’re the last things I need today,” she informed gently, moving forward with sure steps, seemingly not minding whether he answered or not.

But it’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s just that he’s not capable at the moment. Viktor still felt stunned, his mostly invisible hand still up at the space in front of him – and prickling oddly at the fingertips –, and feeling totally disarmed – yet again – by the wonderful sight of her happy visage, the same kind she showed when she laughed freely at his disheveled appearance.

He took a deep, steadying breath and set his eyes to the clouds, cursing up a storm in his head, frustrated at the irony of not being able to read the one girl he wants the most.

Was that a smile of appreciation, or attraction? Was it really meant to show gratitude, or something more? Was she outright trying to finally flirt at him with her touch or just…just…

Breathe, Viktor, he berated himself. Relax. Don’t let the curtain fall down. Don’t let the _Karastanchovs_ get to you. Don’t let the rush of blood and the fast beat of your heart dictate your actions. Be content, _be content_.

Mental note, beg additional laps from Trainer Valkov later.

Sharply nodding his head, Viktor pushed his feet onwards, following dutifully to where his curly-headed guiding star is leading him.

Eventually he slowed, quickly flicking his wand towards a roving saleswizard. A dark scarf suddenly appeared in his other hand, just as he levitated an appropriate amount of coins in the startled man’s pocket. He hurriedly caught up to Hermione before she sensed something was amiss.

In the background, the confused, gray-haired man quickly counted the coins in his suddenly heavier coat, while simultaneously checking that his anti-theft jinxes are still in place.

Finally he just shrugged, pushing at his cart again, and continued to merrily advertise his wares.

Must’ve bumped into elves again, he thought. Wish I could afford them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: You all thought I forgot the plot? Yes, yes I do sometimes. These two just make me thoroughly distracted by their adorkableness.
> 
> And thank YOU all for being so patient. (And hi to the new followers and those that favorited!).
> 
> I've been struggling how to go from point A to point L while trying to maintain a healthy work-life balance recently. It's been a surprisingly busy month.
> 
> EDITED 11/28/2020 with Translations and Explanations:
> 
> Sō desu ne (そうですね) - a polite way of saying 'I see' or 'So it is, isn't it?' in Japanese. It actually depends on the intonation.
> 
> Fuzakenaide (ふざけないで) - a little informal way of saying 'don't joke around' or 'don't tease me like that' in Japanese.
> 
> milaya (милая) - Russian endearment that's usually addressed to a beloved person. So it could mean Darling, sweetie, honey, etc.
> 
> koi (恋) - short for koibito (恋人), is a Japanese endearment which means lover. So she's calling him 'love'. If some of you heard about Ai (愛), which also means 'love', it has a different connotation. In this case, koi (恋) can be described as 'romantic love' or 'passionate love', while Ai (愛) is considered unselfish and real love. But Ai is rarely used as an endearment, possibly because of its much deeper implications.
> 
> pure barry - Scottish slang for 'excellent' or 'fantastic'
> 
> bonnie - Scottish for 'pretty' or 'attractive'
> 
> scran - Scottish slang for 'food, especially that of an inferior quality'
> 
> Mince and tatties - a popular Scottish dish, consisting of minced beef and mashed potatoes
> 
> Vrednoskop (Вредноскоп) - literally means 'Nastyscope'. Official Russian translation in the books for 'Sneakoscope'
> 
> Geggie - Scottish slang for 'mouth'
> 
> Jessie - Scottish slang/insult that's similar to calling someone a pansy or, effeminate
> 
> roaster - Scottish slang describing someone who 'makes a fool of him/herself' or 'a harsh / humurous critic'
> 
> Lethifold - also known as the Living Shroud, is a carnivorous and highly dangerous magical beast. It hunts at night, preying over sleeping creatures. Possibly related to Dementors
> 
> nazdrave (Наздраве) - usually said like 'Cheers!' when drinking but can also be used like 'Bless you!' when someone sneezes. It literally means 'to your health' or 'be healthy'.
> 
> epicure - a foodie
> 
> Aylyak (айляк) - Plovdivian word which implies being 'idle and worry free'. Its similar to the phrase or philosophy 'Hakuna Matata'
> 
> My curtain falls (pada mi perdeto, ПАДА МИ ПЕРДЕТО) - Bulgarian saying which means one is very angry or pissed off.
> 
> To catch the Karastanchovs (da te khvanat karastanchovite, ДА ТЕ ХВАНАТ КАРАСТАНЧОВИТE) - Bulgarian expression that means someone has gone crazy or done stupid/strange things. A popular origin story about this expression is that in a village, long ago, the whole Karastonchovi family went crazy, started fighting, then killed themselves.
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	17. Summer 1993: The Sight

_V-I-W Stadium Suites, Stade national de Quidditch, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

“Vinko is distracted,” came Georgi’s offhand remark, obnoxiously munching on a huge pretzel he purchased from a passing enchanted cart, handing it enough Knuts to cover all their snacks in its side bin. A bell-like beep was its acknowledgment before it rattled away and disappeared through the wall.

He faced forward and gazed unblinkingly at the flawlessly manicured field, totally conscious of Mira’s annoyed glower at his temple. Eventually, she turned her attention to her own treats he ‘forgot’ to get, floating them to her with a harsh swing of her wand.

“If you weren’t so lazy and a glutton you’d get everything just fine” Mira muttered under her breath, distractedly adjusting the knobs of her omnioculars rapidly while leaving her wide, bubbling chalice on a shiny, floating disk at her side – it kept anything on it to the guest’s preferred temperature. Right now, her drink is at that exact level of cold she enjoyed that would normally hurt her teeth but will melt quickly in a disappointing watery slush if it was filled with ice instead.

The perks at these seats, even for the visiting team, Mira mused. Not to mention how comfortably plush they are for a good nap if a match goes on longer than expected. A group of older people nearby wearing browns and blacks are already taking advantage of them, waking up every now and again from their snoozing when the cheering became especially rowdy.

“You think so?” she asked out loud, hurriedly untangling the cord of her device from the straps of her bag with one hand while tossing a few chips in her mouth with the other.

“Well, aside from the bleeding, lopsided flying, and coach’s screaming from below, I can confidently say I _know_ so,” her best friend stated matter-of-factly, with eyes now focused on the stands near them in interest, leaning forward with a subtle quirk of his mouth.

“I was being sarcastic, _tikvenik._ Now be quiet. I need a better look.”

Blinking, Mira gave herself a moment before adjusting to the slowed down replay of three minutes ago through the lens of her charmed field glasses.

It’s the day of the match, finally, and things had turned out great for them at the beginning. Everything was as expected: the home team was cocky during the presentation, like strutting flamingos in their shallow pond as they circled the stadium. They were so busy flaunting and preening themselves for the crowd that it took them a while before noticing the number of shots the Snipes scored after the whistle blow. It didn’t help that their Vinko caught them off guard, acting like a support Chaser than a Seeker, bullying the Quafflepuncher’s Keeper to an unprepared defensive. Before the enemy Beaters reached them, the Snipes were able to force the Keeper’s limbs through the goal hoops several times, earning him fouls aplenty; a classic flacking – just as they’ve intended.

The game went on for hours after that, with the home team switching up to an absolute defense while the Snipes continued their aggressive assault, with such elusive maneuvering on their brooms, and scoring at a rapid pace that it’s a wonder that the score tower could keep up – then again it’s bewitched for that exact purpose. No human can be trained well enough to see through the naked eye all the action happening all at once.

The referees are no exception, Mira guessed, remembering one poor, black-and-white clad soul fall flat on his back within the hedge maze, knocked out accidentally by a wayward Bludger. The Quafflepuncher’s Beater was pulled out by their Captain for timeout.

As the bright light of day turn dim in the afternoon, only the most persistent fans cheered ceaselessly – the thunderous sound of Gosho’s bells aiding their supporters’ roar. The pressure of winning the league was felt throughout the stadium, with the crowd demanding more fouls, bruises, and broken bones as tensions rose high, with drinks and food gone airborne in delight or dismay.

A little alcohol went a long way in this crowd, that’s for sure.

By early evening, when Captain Vulchanov gestured for Viktor to catch the Snitch, the Quafflepunchers took note and crowded the Snipes players. The home team Chasers turned aggressive while passing the Quaffle, soft facades dropping as they unexpectedly took out their Beater in a brutal, yet brilliantly timed hit at his spine that left everyone breathless.

No one had seen it coming. The borderline violent turnabout at play had everyone at the edge of their seats as they watched the Quafflepunchers dominate the field and quickly brought the score to a near tie.

And that’s the crux of the home team’s success in recent years, Mira surmised with begrudging respect. The reason why they’ve been champions for so long: they let themselves be underestimated – a team comprised of mostly women, clad in bright pink uniforms, shiny hair, and beguiling eyes. The strength of their fury, their resolve…

Their absolute focus to win.

Things spiraled for the worse when Viktor was focus fired by the enemy Beaters, and some underhanded headwind maneuvers from their Seeker, who seem determined to show her own support for her team – the chase for the elusive Snitch temporarily forgotten.

It seems the home team took the chatter about their Vinko’s prowess more seriously than they thought.

Dodging and swerving for long suspenseful minutes, Viktor held up as best as he could, doing heart-pounding shifts and gut-retching dives that would make any normal wizard queasy.

But then…

He did an odd jerk down of his broom and went directly into the path of one of the Bludgers. A loud groan of pain was heard, drowned immediately by an enormous gasp from all around.

So Mira furrowed her brow, concentrating on the moving images of that exact scene. She studied the playback, again and again, ignoring the dull pull of her skin as she pressed the ring of the eyepiece further into her face, a vain attempt to see…whatever it is she needs to see.

Her eyes roamed about, trying to find something peculiar enough to make Viktor lose his focus –

… _whizzing brooms…flapping robes…_

… _winds howling; bushes cut down by sharp gusts…_

… _the snap of leather…transfer of hands…_

… _ducking and parrying…_

… _an echoing ring from the score tower…_

A click – the whirl of magic and gears working within the lens.

… _a passing of red; screaming…_

… _punched flesh and clothe; a yowl…_

… _a blur of brown and shocking pink…_

… _a bell tolls…_

… _cursing and veering…_

… _a pause…a direct gaze…_

… _a head tilt; a heavy frown…_

Mira turned another knob and zoomed in, with her own head tilted.

… _wind whistling… the sharp smack of a bat…_

… _ringing metal…an impact, imminent…_

… _a flash of wiry hazel and chestnut …_

… _an alarmed expression…_

… _shrieking…_

… _a snap decision…_

… _a bell tolls…_

Mira’s head shot up, body moving forward, straining to stare down at the nearby stands in disbelief. A clang of metal against rail sounded as her omnioculars banged on them; the cord attached to her wrist the only reason it hasn’t dropped directly unto a bystander below.

After a quick sweep over of the crowd, Mira gradually sat back down, comprehending she won’t be seeing anyone significant with everyone else standing in protest and chanting for foul. Blinking slowly, still in disbelief, she turned her head up, finding the dazed member of their trio instantly in the sky, who was floating haphazardly and trying to rotate his battered shoulder back in place.

_Did he intentionally…?_

“Oh look, the English princess looks like she’s going to cry. You think she broke a nail?”

Mira smacked Georgi’s shoulder hard without much thought, still staring at Viktor in growing awe. “Don’t be tactless. I doubt she’s the only one feeling anxious right now. Vinko’s parents will definitely hear his injury in the radio – shame they couldn’t physically be here, but _Lélya_ Alexandra will definitely find a way. Anyone would be worried, Gosho.”

“ _A!_ But what a way to go. His princess will surely be impressed,” Georgi joked, thinking of the _mugul_ ‘fairy tales’ he’s been reading.

“Really. Which part seems more noble then: plummeting to his doom because of a game or dying in her presence without knowing his intentions?!” Mira almost shouted her exasperated sarcasm, crunching ominously on her hard candy with a hard glare.

Georgi lost his smile instantly, rubbing his chin in thought. Does the ‘Grimm’ in the authors’ names have a negative connotation? He’d better check with Dietrich. He doesn’t remember if those stories had happy endings. “You’re right. With either event, it will make them star-crossed lovers, don’t you think?”

Mira thinned her lips, hands wrapped tightly around her omnioculars to prevent herself from strangling her seatmate prematurely.

-{-}-

Relaxing back in his seat after observing the young, curly-haired witch being comforted by the people surrounding her – are those the Veela sisters Vinko mentioned? And is that the mother? He’s holding out on me…again! – , Georgi turned his head enough to see Mira’s rapidly growing ire. He chuckled, patting her on the shoulders in comfort, mindful that his fingers are well within biting range. “Relax, Mimi. You know better than her, so you shouldn’t be as troubled. As hazardous as these games tend to be, there are still safety measures in place.

And look! Captain Vulchanov is making my point. He’s calling for a timeout now.”

As they both turned their gaze back to the field, sipping their drinks in different levels of calm, Georgi ruminated back on the look of realization on Hermione Jean Granger’s face.

I hope you know now, _printsesa_ , Georgi thought with unusual solemnity.

Of how much you mean to our Viktor.

-{-}-

_-.-.-_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_The last of spring’s cool breeze gave way, and summer has fully embraced us with its heat. I hope you and your family are well._

-.-.-

“Hermione! Are you alright?”

_-.-.-_

_Thank you for your last letter. My heart filled with warmth at the thought you considered consulting me on matters most important to you._

-.-.-

“Buttercup? Say something please.”

_-.-.-_

_I am certain I understand your character well enough to know you received various advice already, especially from your new friends, as I am certain you have done extensive research on your own before you reached out to me._

-.-.-

“I-I’m fine. Just startled, dad. Nothing to worry about. Everything’s fine.”

_-.-.-_

_So I will add only this: always keep eight-tenths full._

-.-.-

“He’s going to be alright…right, Fleur?” The younger witch's mind was too full of worry to try and speak in French.

Hermione felt a long smooth hand squeeze hers. “Of course, _chérie_ , of course. These things do ‘appen _._ There are usually ‘ealers on standby. They are in those green tents. _”_

“ _The Beaters aren’t supposed to aim the Bludger at us. They’re so dumb.”_

“ _Elle! No insults against our team. Wait until we get home~”_

_-.-.-_

_Moderate not just how much you eat, but how much time you spend. (Although from what I’m hearing, you should eat more. Your books will not sustain your form.)_

-.-.-

“How long do these games actually last, Monsieur Lucien?”

“Hmm…the last game they played in was against the Sweetwater All-Stars. An international friendly you see. _Very stubborn, those_ _Américain_. Anyway, that took about five days. It was positively _glorieux_!”

“ _You almost fell sick that time, my light._ _The weather was very bad_ ,” interjected Madam Apolline thoughtfully.

“Did I hear right? Getting sick? Five bloody days?!”

“Will! Not in front of the girls.”

“Sorry, love.”

_-.-.-_

_Do not let the excitement of learning get the better of you, like how you should not let your hunger dictate how much you eat._

_You must care for yourself, just as much as you care for everyone around you._

_-.-.-_

“Hermione, do you want to turn in early? If you’re getting sleepy – ”

“No!” Cynthia raised a brow that the unusual exclamation from her usually calm girl.

“Sorry, mum. I’m alright. Really.”

Cynthia watched, intrigued, as her little girl went through a series of conflicting emotions, rubbing at her left wrist, more out of anxiety than the cold.

“…even if all I do is watch I just… I said he won’t need it but…I still want...”

Cynthia smiled, nodding in understanding, tugging at her daughter’s dark scarf teasingly before running her fingers through adorably windswept waves. “It’s the boy that went in front of that cannon ball, isn’t it?” she whispered, a slight lilt to her voice.

Hermione froze, snapping her head quickly to stare at her mother.

Cynthia giggled. “Don’t give me that look, young lady. You keep forgetting: _this_ mother always knows. Introduce us someday. I’ll handle your father.”

Hermione sputtered, voice pitched high in alarm, sporting a blush that covered the entirety of her face. “I-I beg your pardon? That’s not – where on earth – no that’s just…just– it’s not like that!”

Her mother belly-laughed and hugged her tight to her side. Hermione hid her face against her shoulder, feeling her mother's hand soothe her metaphorically ruffled feathers.

They looked up in surprise as unanimous screaming boomed within the stadium, with fireworks lighting up the clear night sky. A bang rang out from the score tower, as well as sparks from the goal posts. The echoing voices of the French announcers near the Ministry Box filled them in, in clear disbelief.

“ _The Bulgarians won?_ – Flamme immortelle ! _– Pierre, you saw that, no? – The Bulgarians won!_ The Striking Snipes won! _–_ Incroyable ! _”_

-.-.-

_Your adventures? Yes, of course I know. Your parents and I don’t just gossip for nothing. That includes your father. What a funny man he is._

-.-.-

“What do you think, Will?”

Hermione’s dad looked skeptical, gaze bouncing from wife to daughter to the Delacour sisters and back again in contemplation. Eventually, he sighed, “I’ll do a few calls. It ended later than I expected anyway. At least it didn’t drag on for days. That’s going to be difficult to explain to the travel agency.”

Hermione bit her lips, a vain attempt to smother her growing smile. Her dad just huffed before giving a small smile towards the other young witches.

“Stick with her, you two – er, _keep together with her, yes?_ But don’t be too long. _Do not stay late in night._ Your parents and I’ll prepare a quick pick-me-up for everyone before bed,” her dad finished, looking at the silvery-blondes, making sure his message – in both languages – was understood perfectly.

“ _Oui, monsieur_!”

_-.-.-_

_In life, the best and most difficult times will lie ahead, whether due to circumstances or by your own hands. Please take one step a day towards your goals, and never be discouraged._

-.-.-

* * *

_(Restricted) MagiWard Area, Stade national de Quidditch, Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central_

Viktor turned his head away with gritted teeth, enduring the remaining mediwizard’s ‘handling’ of his person. The distracted man made clumsy pushes and pulls on the Seeker’s bandages, and realigned his busted nose in such a way that caused great pain to throb throughout his head. The remnants of the healer’s unusual spell work almost made him scream out his agony – almost – so he clenched his hands until his knuckles turned white.

Years of Combat, Dueling, and Dark Arts classes managed to increase his pain threshold significantly – as well as his pride in his endurance. No student or graduate from the Institute can ever be labeled as weak – High Master Munter made sure of it.

It doesn’t help that months of Public Relation lessons insisted he maintain a strong yet calm demeanor among fans at all times less he earns a reputation he doesn’t need this early on in his career – not that he plans to have one later in life, or any kind of reputation. He can be called boring for all he cares. He’d prefer to avoid scandal of any kind to preserve the little privacy he’ll have from now on.

The faint sound of buzzing coming from the slight weight in his pocket reminded him heavily of that fact.

He can still remember the surreal amount of howling and whooping as he touched down next to a goal post fountain, with the stadium’s charmed façade reflecting the spectacular sight of the celebratory fireworks – Georgi’s bells added an especially terrorizing glee to their side of the stands that will no doubt make any _kukeri_ troupe proud.

He would have appreciated their hard-earned victory more – seven hundred twenty to four hundred twenty! Captain Vulchanov was very particular with the scoring – if it weren’t for the dizziness that finally caught up to him as he took a step towards the field tents.

He just had enough time to remove his bloodied equipment and uniform within the protected space, ignoring the spike of lasciviousness from the clutch of mediwitches at the corner, when he felt the great weight of his team’s group tackle behind him.

While his mates praised his good timing, and precision in the air – and teased something about his chivalry? – he barely heard any of it. He was a little more preoccupied in feebly maintaining his mental barrier, which faintly cracked from the influx of rapturous emotions, and the blistering pressure added on his injuries.

Viktor winced, concentrating on squirming his way out from under the sweaty dogpile while weakly expressing his gratitude to everyone. He was caught by surprise when his arms were suddenly pulled right from under him and into a crushing embrace.

Trainer Valkov ugly-cried terribly, exclaiming his own elation into Viktor’s ear, babbling about inspiration, and hard work – adding _suffocation_ and _partial hearing loss_ to the growing list of harm on his body.

Eventually, they all realized his predicament when a pack of mediwizards entered and reprimanded them at their patient’s rough treatment. The confusing mix of exuberance, surprise, and sharp distress assaulted Viktor’s senses, shattering the remains of his shielding. The last image he lingered on as darkness encroached is a pair of worried, brown eyes amongst a sea of ‘others’, and petite fingers buried within the warm confines of her scarf.

_His_ scarf, he thought dopily, well aware the smile that stretched across his face as he passed out was a tad too large for someone with his injuries – he could always say he’s euphoric about their victory too.

The next time he came to, he caught the familiar smells of burning dittany, bruise removal paste, and blood replenishing potions, which he drank obediently when prompted. When he felt he had enough strength to open his eyes, he was greeted by an enthusiastically chatty male swathed in the forest green robes of a healer.

Viktor allowed a sigh, hiding his exasperation. Apparently, the young man had recently finished his masters in the Healing Arts and wanted to specialize in _Sports Therapeutics and Remedials_. A noble profession to be sure but Viktor thought it would be some time before any rookie would get the chance to administer their learned treatment plans on actual patients.

Then again, experience is the best teacher. And he’s fairly young himself to turn professional. Guess he can’t really complain. Too much. But it took every ounce of his remaining self-control to keep his poise, ignoring the burning, starry eyed stare from his healer-slash-fan.

After a few more meditative breathes, it seems the gods finally felt pity for him. “Alright, Mr. Krumov. Keep that shoulder off for another two days and the Musculoose Brew will do the rest,” came the bubbly advice. “Congratulations again by the way! Your plays were fantastic! Oh if only mama could see me now – ”

“Thank you for attentive service. I am grateful, but I rest now. Have good night.”

Not dismayed by the abrupt dismissal, the mediwizard beamed, and nodded. But as he reached out for his medicinal box, he swung back suddenly, a question in his eyes and a sheepish smile, fiddling with a small leaf of parchment in his free hand. Viktor understood immediately and gave a small but tired smile, wordlessly accepting the quill the man used to take notes.

Good thing my dominant hand is still working, Viktor mused, as he roughly did his signature.

Breathing out his relief, the young Seeker looked around at the now empty space, double checking for any hidden giggling or feelings of mischief. He fell back down on the surprisingly plush cot, shoulders slumping as he pulled out a very crumpled handkerchief.

He grimaced. A substantial amount of dry blood stained the light rose fabric, covering the last of its original owner’s scent as well as ruined patches of it in a wrinkly mess. He must have unconsciously placed the Snitch next to his treasure in the same pocket.

This now adds to the list of disappointments that kept swirling in his head even before he raised the golden ball in a closed fist at the stadium, its little wings rapidly flapping in between his fingers.

As comforted as he was by their victory, representing his country in the best possible light, and elevating his team mates to new career opportunities…

It just seemed…empty, personally.

His thoughts ran back to his cowardice at the marketplace. He protected Hermione all throughout their time together, helping her avoid bumping into anyone else while she’s busy perusing the wares, and internally snickering at those that couldn’t avoid his big feet. In the end, he only had enough courage to sneak his purchase into hers before disappearing with a hasty farewell, a proverbial tail tucked in between his legs.

Surely she felt offended at not being given a proper by-your-leave. He didn’t feel like a gentleman doing so either.

But if she remained understanding after that, then his absence in the days leading up to today would surely have tested it immensely. It must have. He knew he should have at least sent Gosho or Mimi to her – preferably Mimi – but he didn’t want to seem presumptuous to have either friend go to the Delacour property. They were not given the opportunity to be introduced to the Master, and Mistress of the House beforehand, despite an introduction with one of their daughters. It’s just not right.

He could have easily blamed his couch and Trainer Valkov’s last minute training schedule, taking up a whole day instead of a few hours, but he could have done more to make time. They’re just doing what they can, and he should have done so too – even if he fell in an exhausted heap after each intense session.

And finally, his hesitance. He just can’t seem to voice out _why_ he can’t sense her emotions, no matter how much he wants to explain. He knows she’s bright. He knows she can understand. He knows she’s kind – oh so very kind.

But –

.. _‘don’t tell_ ’… _‘shield’… ‘_ ‘ _keep safe’_ …‘ _you’ll get hurt’…‘be careful’…‘remain silent’… ‘save yourself’… ‘protect’… ‘safeguard’…_

… ‘ _not a word, Viktor. Not a word. Please. Please…’…_

The words, the mantra, remain his constant companions growing up. Over and over, constantly on repeat.

An order, made out of love. Sometimes a stifling love, but he understands, being an only child; an only son.

And now, a command he’ll need to follow as his fame grows, as his exposure grows – if he lets it. And that’s the final issue: even if he was given the miraculous chance to be with his _custodia,_ he’s not sure if she wants him to continue Quidditch as a career, if the worry he saw in her eyes was any indication.

In a related note, the misfortune that awaits any _tragicus_ when he or she is not careful has always been a looming shadow within the depths of his mind. Even that day, under their tree, when he tried to translate in the simplest terms of his condition to her, his voice instinctually turned soft, conscious of anyone that might eavesdrop.

But despite knowing all of this, knowing the importance, knowing the risks – the destroyed handkerchief in his hands felt like the physical representation of all his regrets.

So immersed was he by his melancholic thoughts that he failed to notice the quiet swish of the tent flap, the slow, careful padding of feet on cut grass, and the silent presence now sat near his bed.

A soft cough caught his attention.

“Hi.”

-{-}-

Hermione rubbed at her wrist, feeling uneasy from Viktor’s positively gob smacked expression, understandably not expecting her visit – or her company in general.

An awkward air surrounded them; minutes flew by without either one speaking. When she couldn’t maintain eye contact anymore, she looked down, and finally noticed the bandages that decorated heavily over his shoulders and chest, the strong smell of something herbal in the air, and the purple bruising right across his still healing nose – it certainly looks painful but he doesn’t seem to mind.

She knitted her brows and frowned, smoothing the sheet in front of her nervously, deciding, “Nevermind. You clearly need your rest. I’m not supposed to be here so…I just thought I…” she trailed off, shaking her head. She went to get up from the chair next to the cot when his hand shot out, and grabbed her forearm.

She raised her head up, eyes slowly following the line of Viktor’s hand attached to his arm – who adjusted his grip more gently now – and up to his dark, yet awestruck eyes.

“You are here,” he said in a hush voice, as if telling her a secret.

Hermione huffed, giving him a wry smile, eyeing a loose thread of the relatively lush bedding as she sat back down. “Right well, you can blame the sisters. Fleur is doing a great job with distracting security – annoyingly radiant that one, really – and I think some of the mediwizards too. Gabrielle’s covering the female front. Turns out, she brings out the maternal side of witches. I would have thought they would only affect men.”

“ _Da_. Veela young are naughty. They make you look other way while they cause trouble. Fully grown ones are, how you say, over…over-power? Over-whelm? They overwhelm man’s senses completely. Very easy. We careful when we bring them for mascot presentation,” Viktor explained, absentmindedly. She can feel his eyes roaming over her face, giving her that peculiar look again like she's a priceless work of art.

Hermione tilted her head, intrigued, choosing to focus on another new fact than the faster pounding in her veins. “Fascinating. They originated from Bulgaria, right? And mascot presentation? I didn’t see that.”

“You stay for whole match? Day to night?” he interrupted with slight urgency, his hand now in a relaxed clasp around hers. He sat up smoothly, as if waking up from a quick nap, facing her fully, and eye contact intent.

Hermione raised a brow, confused, but nodded her head nevertheless. “Yes? But like I said, I didn’t see any mascots.”

“ _Ne_ , mascot presentation is for bigger game. Like World Cup. Better security,” he whispered distractedly. He cleared his throat and continued in his normal timber, “I thought…I thought you leave. After the – after my…” he stopped, gingerly touching his shoulder, head tilted down in embarrassment.

Hermione frowned; giving in to her impulse to reprimand at the reminder of his injury. “Of course I stayed! How would I know if you’re still alive otherwise?”

Viktor turned back and stared, mouth agape. Hermione blew a sharp breathe at her unruly bangs, anticipating a complaint. Well she won’t have it until she’d had her say. “You were reckless, you know that? Incredibly brave, I’ll admit, but reckless. Monsieur Delacour said that if any of the balls are near enough to hit any spectator, anyone at all, they’d drop like a sack of potatoes – unless they hit another person below. We’re seated way up high, as you know, and…no matter. That’s beside the point. The point was, you were needlessly putting yourself at risk. I know there are so called ‘calculated risks’ but that didn’t look like one. Absolutely not.

And another thing, why didn’t you get yourself checked out immediately at this tent? I think that was your Captain that called for timeout…? Monsieur Delacour said you’re not out of the game if you get yourself a quick fix. But no. You had to carry on, flying as if you weren’t hit by those – those bludge…balls. Things. Those flying fiends of death.

You’re the Seeker. I know the pressure on you to win is massive – my best friend’s a Seeker for our school, did I tell you? He gets heckled constantly by our House’s Captain to ‘ _move move, move’, ‘practice, practice, practice’, ‘win, win, win’_. And that’s just for a school event. You, on the other hand, are on a completely different level. Hence, your _injuries_ are on a completely different level – What if…what if one small injury jeopardizes your whole career? Or what if, down the line, after several years, one wrong muscle pull gets you permanently injured? You have to be more mindful of yourself.

Furthermore why – why are you smiling at me like that? Do you think I’m being funny?!” she interrupted herself mid-rant, scowling, but losing steam quickly when he started to laugh, shoulders shaking hard, amusement and surprise twinkling merrily in his eyes. Then he squeezed their fingers together more firmly, making her heart skip a beat.

“ _Ne_. _Ne_. I am just…I am just thinking you are incredible witch, Hermione Jean Granger,” he stated softly, ending with a sigh and small smile. Shivers went up her spine at his emphasis on her vowels in that peculiar way of his, as well as from the tender gaze he directed at her.

Hermione was saved from sputtering a clumsy response by the sparkle from a huge butterfly at the end of Viktor’s cot, nine-inch wings flapping in a deliberate manner. She checked her watch before looking up in apology.

“It’s Gabrielle’s familiar. We need to get back before our parents worry.”

Viktor smiled sadly. “I understand. Please careful on way home. I also mean when you go back in own country.”

“Yeah…” Hermione responded, voice turning quiet for a few moments.

Channeling her Gryffindor daring, she took a deep breath, raised up her chin, and smiled. “Thank you, Viktor Ivanov Krumov. You’ve made my time here very…pleasant. It was most enjoyable. And – and I learned a lot. And uhm…I…”

“Yes?” He encouraged, voice pitched higher than his normal register, with something akin to hope entering his gaze.

-.-.-

_But most important of all, enjoy life. Enjoy living it. Choose to be happy. Choose your happiness._

_-.-.-_

Resolute, she took out a clean handkerchief from her pocket, placing it carefully in between their hands. She felt a blush warming up her face at the realization their fingers had loosely intertwined without her feeling it.

“It’s for when you need another,” she emphasized mildly, looking over at the ruined one near his lap, covered obviously with blood.

“Oh,” came his neutral response, face now carefully indifferent.

Hermione couldn’t smother her giggle even when she tried, slowly squeezing her fingers while watching for his reaction.

And he did not disappoint. Viktor’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline at the muffled crunch of paper, staring more fixatedly at their fingers.

The glittering butterfly flew up then, a slight breeze blowing over their faces. “That’s my cue,” Hermione said, watching as it silently went out through the small gap of the tent. She turned her head back around, still smiling as she stood. “Good night, Viktor. You take care of yourself on your own way back, alright? Give my regards to Georgi and Mira.”

He shook his head. “Give mine to Delacours as well. They good people.”

“Yours too. Your friends are good people too I mean.”

“ _Da._ I know.” He hesitated for a moment, thinking over something, before an unsettlingly roguish expression passed over his face. “Close eyes, please.”

Her eyebrows couldn’t get any higher than they are now at his request. “And why would I do that?”

“You surrounded by good people. I surrounded by good people. So, trust I be good, yes? Close eyes, please.”

Hermione playfully put on a skeptical face before closing her eyes warily, her other hand at the ready to smack him if he gets any cheeky ideas.

Hermione heard him mutter something under his breath and saw a dim glow through her eyelids. She held her breathe as she felt Viktor roll her fingers gently to wrap around something before feeling a warm pressure on the back of her hand.

He had the gall to chuckle before he let go of her hand. The sudden loss prompted her to open her eyes. She widened them comically at the glint of gold shining on her palm. “It right if you keep something mine, when I keep something yours.

Good night, Hermione. Have sweetest dreams.”

Hermione just nodded stiffly, rendered utterly speechless, before she scampered out into the night.

-.-.-

_You’ll be surprised by what life has in store for you._

_May the winds of tomorrow blow your way, always._

_Miya Lebedeva, DCPsych_

_Proprietress, Deep Roots Studio_

_-.-.-_

-{-}-

“The security wizards are strangely red in the face tonight, aren’t they?” Mira observed, passing by a few, as she and Georgi walked into Viktor’s designated field tent.

Georgi shrugged, too hungry to care. “They’re French. They might have drunk their misery away. Anyway do you think Vinko is high on the fumes?”

“Say what now?”

“Vinko! We have clearance to get you. Get your butt out of bed.”

They heard a dreamy sigh.

“Vinko?”

“…I’m _brave_ …on _different_ level...” came the odd reply. A very uncharacteristic giggle briefly left their friend's smiling lips.

Mira leaned her head near Georgi’s shoulder, staring at their friend who’s strangely lounging on the bed. “You might be on to something about the fumes,” she whispered.

They both saw him kiss a small piece of parchment and stare at it with a stupid grin.

“A bucket full of water?” Georgi suggested, taking out his wand. “Might be enough to wake him up.”

“Maybe just a glassful. We need to avoid his injuries,” Mira refuted, taking out her own wand. Just in case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: That officially ends Summer of Year 1993. This is my longest chapter yet and its my new favorite~
> 
> EDIT: Next chapter will be about their school term, as a reward for the very long wait.
> 
> EDITED 11/28/2020 with Translation and Explanations:
> 
> Tikvenik (Тиквеник) - literally means 'pumpkin-head' in Bulgarian; It's like calling someone an airhead - having a big empty hollow heads
> 
> Lélya (Леля) - very broad term for 'aunt' in Bulgarian; also the name given by children to any female adult they don't know. Like how you call someone 'auntie'. Or 'tita', in my language. :3
> 
> mugul (Мъгъл) - this is actually what they use in Bulgarian translations of the books for 'muggle'. Although phonetically its M"g"l but uhh, I think most of us might have a little difficulty trying to pronounce that.
> 
> printsesa (принцеса) - 'princess' in Bulgarian
> 
> chérie (feminine form) - French endearment for a friend or lover. It can be similar in meaning to sweetie or dear
> 
> friendly - British word which means a match that does not form part of a serious competition.
> 
> kukeri (кукери) - are elaborately costumed Bulgarian men, and sometimes women, who perform traditional rituals intended to scare away evil spirits. The costumes cover most of the body and include decorated wooden masks of animals (sometimes double-faced) and large bells attached to the belt (Wikipedia). Georgi certainly had fun with those bells.
> 
> High Master Munter - Professor Harfang Munter was Durmstrang Institute's second High Master and 'who established Durmstrang's reputation for emphasising martial magic as an impressive part of its curriculum.' (HP Fandom Wiki)
> 
> If it wasn't clear before, Mrs. Lebedeva is Japanese. How she writes her formal letters reflect that (or semi-formal in this case). The format is always:
> 
> 1) Addressee's Name
> 
> 2) Set Expression (this is usually about the weather or seasonal changes. They love their seasonal changes)
> 
> 3) Content
> 
> 4) Set Expression (this is usually giving well wishes to the addressee's health or looking forward to see them)
> 
> 5) Sender's Name
> 
> Eat until you are eight parts (out of ten) full (腹八分目, or hara hachi bu) - this is a common teaching in Japan (and China and India as well) about doing things (or eating food) in moderation.
> 
> Américain - 'American' in French.
> 
> glorieux - 'glorious' in French, masculine term
> 
> Flamme immortelle - 'immortal flame' in French, feminine term. Ok now this one is my attempt at being witty. Nicolas Flamel is a well beloved (I think) wizard in France, known for being the creator of the Philosopher's Stone and thereby has achieved immortality (supposedly). So it's a play on words about his last name and longevity. The English always used 'Merlin's Beard!' so...yeah. That's my contribution.
> 
> Incroyable - 'incredible' in French.
> 
> 'Oui, monsieur' - 'Yes, sir' (or literally, 'Yes, mister') in French
> 
> 'Stade national de Quidditch' - 'Quidditch National Stadium' in French; I may be wrong. I just Google Translated it xD
> 
> BONUS:
> 
> Musculoose Brew - Musculus ('muscle' in Latin) + Loose. It's a mixture that helps relax the muscles. I completely made this up xD
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> Reine


	18. School Term Interlude 1993: Thoughts

_Residential Area, Krumov Ancestral Estate, Acropolis of Plovdiv_

" _Will you take the straight, and narrow path? O_ _r the long, and winding road?_ "

" _What?"_ Viktor raised a brow, perplexed.

"Hmm. _He might understand this better._ Viktor. Do you want to beat a bush, or shoot with your hips? _"_

" _...excuse me?"_ Viktor's voice and face turned flat, brow twitching in annoyance.

" _You're excused,"_ Dietrich crooned mildly, turning his attention to their often-misunderstood friend. _"And no_ , Ás. _It's_ 'beating around the bush' _and_ 'shoot at the hip' _. You're just as bad as Georgi in English – no matter what he says otherwise. Just...don't use those idioms ever again."_

Viktor cleared his throat. "Dieter. _What does this have to do with –_ "

" – _then why not just say_ _'I miss you'? It's so simple. That's a good start,_ ja _?"_ Asbjørn interjected, eyes unfocused, staring distractedly in the distance, unknowing of Viktor's pursed lips at the interruption and suggestion.

" _To mention such in a first correspondence is_ _too_ _direct,_ Ás _,"_ refutted Dietrich, with a patient shake of his head.

" _Oh."_

Viktor sighed quietly, waiting for their Norwegian friend to connect the dots, given the following silence. _" I think I see. Would it be considered…_ mistenksom..skummel...ah, _'creepy', I think is the word, for him to say so?"_

" _To a girl he barely interacted with for two weeks? Spine-chilling. And not in a good way."_ Viktor can just see Dietrich's droll look within the sparks and embers in the hearth, with Asbjørn humming in the background.

" _Too bad._ _What about the weather then? Aren't the English fond of talking about it?"_ Asbjørn chirped.

" _Well, that is certainly a start. But I'm afraid that is_ too _indirect this time,"_ Dietrich disputed, with a firmer shake of his head. _"She is not a stranger – at least, not to Viktor. She should not be treated so."_

Asbjørn raised a brow, eyes narrowing in further thought. _"I thought she's a smart girl, this one. Isn't the point of this to make and maintain communication? Mentioning one common topic at a time shouldn't be such a trial. The weather is trivial, but so can anything else in life,"_ he ended enigmatically.

"' _Small amounts add to something bigger'. I agree,"_ said Dietrich, used to their friend's way of speaking. _"But Viktor does not need to feint indifference, nor ignorance to seem 'cool', as the_ Muggels _would_ _say. On the other hand, he should not be too...overt with his sentiments. She might take offense or be frightened by it. We should strive for a balance._

_Besides, he doesn't need to_ make _a connection. He met her at the European Championships. We just discussed this,"_ Dietrich crossed his arms, face stern but eyebrows raised high, expecting the usual question.

" _We did?"_

"Ja! _" "_ Da! _"_

"Å _._ _I thought you meant he met her_ first _when he saved her. So strictly speaking, they are not 'strangers'."_ Viktor heard more than saw Dietrich slap his forehead, a gesture he's tempted to do himself. _"The headings imply this too: 'Love at first save!' 'Hearts of thousands, shattered!"_

" _Its because they met beforehand that he bothered to do so._ _Incidentally_ _,"_ Dietrich's vexed tone turned sly, moving his gaze now to him, tone sounding alarmingly amused now, to Viktor's dread. _"_ Ás _was quoting the scandal sheets word for word,_ Viktor _. Word. For. Word." The German chuckled, unabashed._

" _I personally don't think you are like the yolk in the egg in this situation,_ Viktor. _But in other news, the broadsheets are saying you heroically saved a family while leading your team to victory. Your questionable, non-existent love life aside, your name may go to a level to that of the untarnished stars in the sky,"_ Asbjørn declared, a sureness in his voice, weaving both poetry and insult in one statement. After a still moment, twin chortling can be heard over the snap of wood and swirl of magical flames, making it the lit match dropped in Viktor's powder barrel.

A dull thunk echoed through the fireplace, as well as a loud, exasperated sigh, making Dietrich and Asbjørn abruptly stop their snickering. They look into the fire pit they've been conversing into more closely.

" _Viktor?"_

" _...I'm here."_

" _Was that_ Fraulein Stoyanova _and_ Georgi?"

" _No. There is a conveniently placed table in front of me. You two are making my head ache. Tell me again why are you together right now? I only expected_ Dieter _to help me over this."_

" _Well, my family and I are in_ Geisterberg _for vacation. We're shopping for our usual elixirs and hand-made cordials. They're the best here. I bumped into_ Dieter _in one of the herbal huts. And then, you falcon-ed,"_ summarized the Norwegian, with a nod from the other blonde as confirmation.

" _And then, I 'falcon-ed',"_ mimicked Viktor with a weak smile, using two of his fingers to massage his temple as he lifted his head enough to rest his chin on the hardwood. _"And you_ Dieter? _Why are you in Austria?"_

" _I...was from here. I visit for ...family. I go back to Germany as soon as it's over._ " Despite the sepia and crimson tones of the flames, and the other teen's calm visage, Dietrich's discomfort still shown through under Viktor's sharp gaze. Now that he thinks on it, the German – or should he say Austrian? Huh. Who'd have thought – never talks about family, albeit its not usually brought up in conversation.

I guess it's a story for another time, Viktor mused, shrugging outwardly, to Dietrich's relief.

" _About the letter,"_ Viktor diverted, _"Just to make it clear. Again. If all goes very well, I might become her first boyfriend – "_ or husband, he mentally amended.

Her _only_ husband, ideally.

" – _Ooh, assuming aren't we?"_ Asbjørn interjected, elbowing Dietrich aside, and giving Viktor a knowing grin, an odd concentration in his stare. Viktor flinched, feeling guilty. He always gets the impression the blonde Northerner can read his thoughts, even though his shields are in place and in one, solid piece. Even their professors get unnerved from the Norwegian's unblinking stare in class from time to time. _"Well. You have the 'star' power going with you now. That might put you in an advantage. Your worries about writing a letter should be for naught."_

" _She's... This is not that simple. She's not interested in that. At all. She doesn't even like Quidditch – "_

" – _Hrm. Smart_ and _unattainable? A hunter, through and through, aren't we Viktor?,"_ Dieter teased, shouldering himself back into the conversation, with his own wide smile and approving nod. _"Looking for a good chase I see."_

Viktor can feel a hot flush of embarrassment on his face; his fists tensing in agitation. _"_ Kakvo? _That's not – and did you just call m –_ Dietrich! Asbjørn! _Please, for the love of the gods, let me finish. I'm saying I do not want to scare her more than I did when we first met – "_

"– _What is this? Did you actually stalk her? For shame, Viktor. A lady needs her privacy,"_ tutted Asbjørn, failing to hide a smirk, while wagging a finger at him.

" _I never imagined we would need to teach you ethical behavior with women. I'd have thought this talk for Georgi,"_ said Dietrich sternly, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth said otherwise.

Viktor groaned, knocking his forehead on the coffee table again.

I knew I should have fire-hailed Mimi instead, he mentally grumbled.

* * *

_Leaky Cauldron (Muggle side), Charing Cross Road, London_

"He sounds like a beautiful creature. What is he called?"

"He's named 'Crookshanks', by the menagerie. Must be his plush legs, I suspect. The poor thing has been there for so long, they thought he'd never be bought. I don't understand. His color? He reminds me of candle light. And he went right up to me, so I know he's friendly," Hermione gushed, still feeling pleased at her find.

"With you, he knew he'd be offered a home," Mrs. Lebedeva commented, a usual knowing in her voice. Hermione smiled, always amazed a few choice words can make one think in an entirely different perspective. "And how about your friend? Is he alright now? It's said the Knight Bus may be convenient to get to a desired destination, but it's unfortunately as jarring as apparating. Maybe worse," her teacher inquired, her light voice tickling Hermione's ear pleasantly.

At the word 'friend', Hermione scowled harshly, thinking of the red-head she argued with earlier in the day. But she shook her head, knowing her teacher was referring to another. "Harry's fine. Doesn't seem shaken at all. All in a day's work in his life, I suppose. He liked his gift very much though. He said he's badly needed a Broomstick Servicing Kit for ages now. Just kept forgetting they exist. He couldn't believe I, of all people, attended a Quidditch match. _Willingly_ _."_ Hermione flinched, realizing too late her voice sounded more clip than she meant to. Her thoughts had circled again without her consent.

"...I see. Yet you still feel discontent?"

Hermione leaned back, mind catching on to the concern in the older witch's soft tone. She sighed, the cool brick wall of the disguised pub helping her focus. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Lebedeva. It's just Ronald. He's upset I bought Crookshanks. A terror, he said. Keeps accusing he'll eat his stu – his pet rat." Hermione tripped on her words, stopping herself from cursing in the vicinity of her teacher, even if its just through a call. She felt disappointed. Even if Harry was as bewildered as Ron about Crookshanks' deadly concentration on Scabbers, he acted more calmly compared to Ron's hysterics. Then again, if Crookshanks had targeted Hedwig, it might be an entirely different story. But the snowy owl had only peered at the new, fluffy addition with mild interest before turning her head away to preen. Crookshanks, in turn, crooned softly before padding away, not minding the mild introductions, and only flicked his tail up in acknowledgment.

Must be a predator thing.

"Is that not the nature of felines? To hunt, to stalk – whether to play, to eat, or to present a gift. Especially to you, his new mistress."

"I know. I understand. That _would_ make sense. But," Hermione furrowed her brows, thinking over the course of the day. "He's already fed before I bought him. We haven't bonded that long for him to gift me anything. And, he doesn't really seem playful with Scabbers. More like…trying to get rid of a pest?"

"So dear Crookshanks is operating _only_ on instinct? Is that all you noticed?" Mrs. Lebedeva coaxed, always encouraging for Hermione to see the bigger picture. "Remember, you found him in a magical shop. He's bound to have something special in him, in his blood. Be considerate of this as you get to know one another in the coming years."

"I... suppose? The storefront _was_ trying to tell me something about his breed. But we got sidetracked when – "

"'MIONE! 'Mi-o-neee! Your stupid cat! Get 'em off of me!"

Hermione let out a controlled huff, apologizing to her teacher at the obnoxious yelling. "It's fine, little one. All will be well. Think it over for now. Your friend seems to need you," Mrs. Lebedeva chuckled softly, voice tickling her ear again from the speaker of her dad's phone.

Hermione groaned, slapping a hand over her eyes. "They always do."

* * *

_Dining Area, Leaky Cauldron, Charing Cross Road, London_

"Well isn't this lovely?" commented William, tone light, watching in amusement as the kids chased each other around the deceptively huge space, all the while sipping his Butterbeer appreciatively.

A chirping meow concurred from below.

"Hello, cutie~! Aren't you a sweet kitty? I think I know what Hermione would have looked like the other year. Maybe with golds and browns in her colour," giggled Cynthia, brushing her fingers at the fleeting orange fur that's been rubbing her shins quietly. "And intelligent to boot. Getting away when there's trouble." She twirled a finger around a bushy tail that went up at the sound of her daughter's pattering feet at her approach to their table.

Hermione sat heavily next to her mother, panting and red-faced, handing the phone back over to her dad with a bit more force than necessary, before turning narrowed eyes at yellow ones. "Crooks. You have to warn me next time when you do that. As you can see, I get the scolding. Not you. It's an unpleasant experience."

The ginger cat looked up at Hermione with something akin to human-like assessment before doing her little chirping meows. He leaped unto her lap and butted his head under her hand.

"Hmp. Don't charm your way out of this one. But you're lucky Mrs. Lebedeva thinks you have more going on in your head than we think. So we'll talk more later."

Crookshanks purred, satisfied at his mistress' perception.

"Sooo," crooned her mother, the playful tone immediately put Hermione on guard as she swiftly took a sip from her own bubbly drink. "Have you had any letters recently? From a certain someone?"

"Gabrielle's doing well, mum." Hermione willfully deflected, stuffing her mouth with her specialty chicken sandwich.

" _Only_ little Elle?"

"Fleur's fine too. Floating about I suppose."

From the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed her dad rolling his eyes, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

She chomped down on her bread a little more irritably than is necessary.

* * *

_Library, Hogwarts Castle, ?, Scottish Highlands (Unplottable)_

_-.-.-_

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_I must say this first. My English is not better in writing than speaking. I will make many mistakes. I will be apologizing in advance. This is fourth language I speak. Second language I write. I will not use too many complicated words. If I try, it will take me longer to write. I need time to translate in mind, make it understandable, and then, with good wishing, it will be able to express what I mean properly on paper. But I will do my best to write in acceptable time frame._

_-.-.-_

"Just be honest, Vinko. Any person would appreciate that."

"How honest is... _honest_?"

"Just be yourself."

"That does not help me think clearer over this."

"The state of your mind is otherwise when she's in front of you?"

"...you have a point."

"I always do. Remember, she gave you consent to write. She will reply to whatever you say to her, even if it is out of courtesy. Do not be discouraged by this either. It's still a start."

"Thank you, Mimi. I will try."

"See that you do. Now pay up!"

"Will _mekitsi_ do? _Mamo_ had it made this morning. Would you prefer honey or jam to go with it?"

"That'll do. And jam please."

_-.-.-_

_After championship match, I try improve with friend that speak well in your language. It did not go well. Many misunderstandings over the fire. We try again in institute for school year. I learn best with face to face lessons. And you? How do you learn best? Do you like doing lessons? Do you like hearing them? Or do you learn best through reading? Also, ignore anything from Georgi. He might become pest for you. Otherwise, I have right to kick him out of dormitory. He is not our room mate you see. He trespass often. Also, his English has no sense._

_-.-.-_

"Come on, Vinko. Just one tiiiny note. I promise I won't flirt. Much."

"Give me back her addresses."

"Haven't entirely memorized them yet~? And _just_ the paper?"

"...I will throttle you at Duelling Class if the _kŭrpichka_ is damaged."

"You should have better protection spells on your things, you know. What if I'm one of those rabid fans of yours, and not your very good best friend who loves you and your flaws?"

"Is...is that _lyutenitsa_ sauce on it?!"

"... actually its _ljutika_ and its only a speck...?"

"...prepare yourself. _Best. Friend_."

_-.-.-_

_On other hand, Mira will like to say hello. I am certain. I have not seen her yet. Girls dormitory is far from boys. This is good. There are many foolish boys. Even when she does the threatening when we try to protect, it is still best to think safety over her pride. We can live with her hexes anyway._

_I am sorry. I will end letter now. First week of classes will start. Scaring first years will be on agenda, as school tradition. Make them remember importance of discipline. But me and friends do not agree with this. We try make it better. We inform that institute is good institute. But we must do so in secret. It is enjoyable activity._

_Institute cannot be detected easily. Popovo know to wait for your reply. If you need time, you need not worry with his meal. Let him hunt by self. But if you have crickets or frogs on hand, he will stay._

_Wishing you a good year,_

_Viktor Ivanov K._

_New friend to witch of United Kingdom_

_-.-.-_

-{-}-

Hermione felt her face aching, from an excessive amount of smiling than she's used to, utterly charmed. She absently petted the blue-grey plumage of the dashing foreign messenger next to her, re-reading Viktor's letter in the safety of the library. Her relaxed state was a far cry from an hour ago. She had to rush through lunch just to get away from Ron's nagging about her questionable timetable again. He wouldn't normally have persisted. She knew it was a distraction; an attempt to take Harry's mind off of the gloomy atmosphere that lingered in their class. But just because she understands, doesn't mean she has to like it. She'd rather –

A soft series of whining chitter made Hermione cut-off the beginning of her brooding. Calm, dark orbs held eye contact for a few long seconds before turning away, flexing his talons and wings as if preparing for a nap. She smiled again. He certainly reminded her of his owner's laid back nature – a complete contradiction to the pace of his chosen career. She suppose a good amount of rest is good for any athlete? Her parents, Harry, and Ron never fail to remind her to eat and sleep her fill before exams. Maybe it's a similar concept. Glancing back at Viktor's letter, she decided to humor him, as well as practice one of Mrs. Lebedeva's meditation exercises. She took a long, deep breath, calming her thoughts, and reflected.

Using the Time Turner has been a thrilling experience. The velocity and amount of information that streamed into her head was more than she could imagine. It gave her such a relief. All those weeks of worrying ever since her awakening from petrification, weeks of trying to catch up on what she's missed, of being left behind... it all vanished at the new possibilities, with just a turn of a knob.

She knew she can only have it for a year. But it felt like she could conquer anything in her way. So she took up all available subjects and electives for this term, aside from voluntarily completing the last few classes she's missed last year, as well as the canceled exams. What if there was a topic discussed this term that needed the comprehension of a pre-requisitive subject? Her Head of House had shook her head at the latter decision, deeming it unnecessary, dryly quoting their Headmaster's decision. In the end, Hermione's persistence and rationale wore her out. Professor McGonagall had arranged for a special time for this on some weekends.

"You wanted this, Ms. Granger. If there are dates that fall on Hogsmeade weekends, then you'll just have to miss them," the Deputy Headmistress warned, her precise tone punctuating every word. Hermione assented with good cheer though, not all that disappointed.

The idea she may have been the youngest person to be granted the privilege to use a Time Turner made her especially giddy with pride. So much so that it shown outward, aura turning rosy – as Mrs. Lebedeva would put it when she's very happy. To her surprise, it didn't translate in a bad way. Apparently, her overall high made her more open to friendly conversation, especially when she met most of her year mates and new people from the other houses in her first set of concurrent classes. Compared to her previous years, her new candidness pleasantly startled everyone. Most thought her overbearing regard for excellent marks, and defensive behavior for her House translate to tolerance, if not disdain, to relations with other Houses. By the end of the morning, some sheepishly approached her as she and her boys walked towards the Great Hall, asking for a book recommendation or four. Even one Ravenclaw seemed interested in her thoughts about an assignment they'll most likely get in the coming days. Her Gryffindor year mates had gripped tiredly. They can't possibly have work already in their first week...?

Hermione and the Ravenclaw had begged to differ.

Movement at the corner of her eye brought Hermione back to the present. She watched as her feathered companion swiveled his tail while seeking a comfortable spot for its perch, looking up and around now in placid interest. She still puzzled how he managed to find her in her secret nook; far away from the great doorway, no open windowpane to allow him entry. She only remembered looking up to a short cry from the top of a bookcase, surprised eyes meeting small, sharp ones – reminding her of a bigger set that are just as focused. The intelligence she could recognize in their depths urged her instinctively to pat the back of the chair next to her, closing the book she's been perusing to give him her undivided attention. The falcon's unique appearance as it complied, and the adorable message he brought put her instantly in a better mood after her near walk-out of Divination class.

At the time, she had to mentally re-count the meaning of Arithmantic numbers to distract herself from her anger because of Professor Trelawney's unceasing comments of Harry's 'dire' fate this year – over everyone's dire fate. Even with Professor McGonagall's assurances afterwards that this was a regular foretelling by the self-proclaimed Seer, it still left everyone in a terrible downcast. Their Head of House had huffed in mild offense at their unenthusiastic reception of her Animagus transformation. Exceptionally smooth as it always was, it wasn't enough to knock off their blue mood.

What made Hermione decide to remain was Harry's poorly hidden dread, behind his sarcastic bravado with Ron. She can imagine him still processing the past two years of peril – including his summers – as well as the effect of those horrible Dementor beings on the train. Compared to how her life has been, it seemed her worries were so little compared to his. Her loyalty had been tested though as the odd professor's overblown exclamations of the wonders of the 'mystic arts' reminded her more and more of their time with Gilderoy Lockhart. It's not that she talked highly of herself to the point it's the basis of the entire year's lesson plan. It's the _lack_ of any structured outline that gave Hermione a heavy feeling, perceiving she won't be learning anything concrete in class, no matter how much she researched for it.

She'll still try though. The library has yet to disappoint her.

Maybe she just had too high expectations over the subject, she mused, running light fingers over Popovo's right wing. The delicate nibbles in return made her giggle. Mr. Lebedev's mention of the use of his scrying mirror to locate her and her parents in France made her positively buzz for school term, especially when he referenced it as an advance instrument for peering into their various dealings around the world without him needing to lift a finger. All this and more was discussed in a most unconventional place the day he met up with them again.

Walking out from under the skirts of a moving female statue, the entrance to _Place Cachée,_ the Grangers were greeted quietly by a towering yet handsome, familiar figure, who's snow-grey hair, and three-piece suit were styled smartly as if he just came out of a meeting – which was not a far-off conclusion, they thought. The only oddity was his use of gloves despite the summer heat, an accessory Hermione noted when he reached out to her dad for a brief handshake. The other day, her dad was able to get in touch with the Russian wizard, asking to meet outside the French wizarding quarter and advise them on the best transportation to take to the airport, seeing as he's more familiar with the muggle-side of the area than the Delacours. Mr. Lebedev assented after a pause, stating no problem with his availability. He left them bewildered though when he offered to guide them to their assigned terminal himself before ending the call.

"I had the time," Mr. Lebedev clarified, seeing their hesitance, before walking away, expecting them to follow. He nodded at the bronze figure, who smiled sweetly after him, eyeing his confident gait. Hermione could swear if it was molded with eyelashes, it would've batted them too. "As well as my own interest in ensuring my wife's peace of mind."

"We appreciate you doing this for us. But should we be worried?" her mother piped in, more curious than concerned, whispering in Hermione;'s ear how sweet of a husband the tall man was. Hermione hummed her agreement, noticing a few heads turning their way as they crossed a pedestrian lane. The Parisians seem content to leave them be though.

"Not at all. Still, the road of caution has never been a bad course to take," Mr. Lebedev began, face forward, but eyes idly noting the movement of cars and people, guiding them accordingly. He led them to what looked like a full parking lot. "It's similar to witnessing theft in the street. Let's say the person was not careful and did not place their wallet in a discreet place. You were able to learn about this blunder through observation. You now have the option of avoiding the same fate. Or not. For some, it is the latter. It is not because they are slow-witted. Some just think that being wary is one matter, and letting fear rule over your life is another," the wizard concluded succinctly, stopping in front of a shiny, sporty-looking vehicle. It had a beautiful silver finishing to it that even Hermione could recognize it's high value.

Hermione abruptly turned her head up at her dad's choked gasp, wondering at his wide stare and open mouth. He stuttered something she couldn't quite understand, all while pointing at the vehicle, still with that thunderstruck expression.

"Hm? An associate lent it to me. I thought it prudent and discreet to take a private car than use public transportation," Mr. Lebedev explained calmly, even as he eyed her dad with a slight raised brow.

"T-that is. That is far from discreet, Lebedev. That is a McLaren!" her dad asserted, an incredulous lilt to his tone.

Mr. Lebedev blinked slowly. "I am aware of the name of it's founding maker."

"I didn't know wizards could drive," Hermione's mother chirped in, also eyeing the vehicle and her husband with interest.

"Not many do," the tall wizard acknowledged, busying himself opening both of the passenger's – or driver's? – doors upwards _and_ outwards. Hermione's jaw dropped. She can see why her dad is seconds away from frothing at the mouth. "They are wary of using any object that has too many moving mechanical parts. Too many to control. Incompatible spells that are forced to work together in different gears for example, can spark a false life into the object without meaning to." Hermione furrowed her brow, a small memory niggling at the forefront of her mind. "There are even rumors that some objects become sentient enough to become the equivalent of 'feral'. They are not cursed, per se, but they can lash out like caged animals when they feel threatened," he continued nonchalantly, effortlessly taking their luggage from their frozen fingers, and starting to place them strategically into the side panels in front of the rear tires.

_The Ford Anglia...!_

A group mental picture of the former flying car made the Grangers all look at each other in varying levels of alarm and amusement, with Hermione shushing her parents with silent gestures behind Mr. Lebedev's back. It was a comical story when Hermione relayed it to them while at the Delacours, but the legal consequences of it may not end well for Mr. Weasley if they mentioned it to the serious wizard before them. Although they still don't know exactly what Mr. Lebedev does for a living in the wizarding world, his authoritative presence made Hermione think he would suit well in the Ministry of Magic. Maybe even in the legal department.

"As you are aware, I transact with many non-magical businesses. To blend in better with the populace, I sought to attain many skill sets. One of which is to operate an automobile. It is not difficult. It is not unlike driving a carriage," Mr. Lebedev explained as he stood upright again. After pushing the panels back into place, he turned back towards the small family, who were staring at him owlishly. "Unfortunately, this is the only vehicle available I managed to procure at such short notice. It only has two other passenger seats. I could enlarge one of them so that two may fit better. But since this is not under my ownership, I am unwilling to do modifications without permission."

Hermione's mother cleared her throat twice, unsure if she is more astounded at the unique features of the car or realizing this is the longest you all heard the normally reticent gentleman speak at length. "Hermione is still small enough to fit in a seat with Will. Are you okay with that, honey?"

Hermione had to pinch herself awake, mind circling over the wizard's possible occupation – and driving a carriage? _What?_ – before catching onto her mother's implication. "I don't mind sitting with dad. But won't it be a problem with the authorities? The single passenger seat belt...?"

Mr. Lebedev shook his head. "Certainly not. With your consent, Miss Granger, I can cast a cushioning and adhering charm on you to make this short journey comfortable for you both."

"And a car like this with tinted windows... any French bobbies would hesitate to hail it down!" Hermione's dad babbled, waking up from his own stupor and bobbing on the heels of his feet in growing excitement.

Mr. Lebedev hummed, seating himself first in the _middle_ seat – Hermione had forgotten how much science resembled magic sometimes – before directing them to follow suit. "Indeed." After settling down on a comfortable place on her dad's lap, Hermione instantly felt a cooling sensation in the air surrounding her, skin tingling not unlike when one puts mint cream on tired muscles. Mr. Lebedev gave her a raised brow at her amazed expression in his rear view mirror before maneuvering the car out of the parking space and on to the road.

A comfortable silence followed as they enjoyed the rushing scenery, looking on as people and cars gave way to their passing, and the faint smell of strong tea circulating in the enclosed space. Eventually, Hermione's dad excitedly regaled them on the engine and make of the car body, on why it's such an extraordinary experience riding the latest in the luxury car industry. Mr. Lebedev supplied some of his thoughts on it's mechanisms, as well as the future of the car manufacturer. It was a surreal experience. She could almost forget she was in a car, driven by a _wizard_ , who's calm enchantment still surrounding her in a comfortable blanket by the way, and listening in on a 'normal' conversation about muggle transportation and it's advantages, and disadvantages.

That is, before the conversation slowly turned to her.

"I understand you will undergo Divination Class this term, Miss Granger." Recognizing Hermione's nod from the corner of his eye, Mr. Lebedev continued. "A little later than I expected. _Koldovstvoretz_ first years would have taken it already. No matter. So long as your school does not entirely neglect this fundamental discipline." Hermione waited with bated breathe, thoroughly interested now on her school's elective, and hoping the older wizard would compare her school to the Russian one. With the Bulgarians offhandedly mentioning their own institute in the north that is as different to Hogwarts as a swan is to a mountain lion, Hermione wanted to know all the differences and similarities the academy in the far east would be like. Would the students dress more or dress less? Do they have different houses as well? How many years do you have to attend before you graduate? Why is Divination considered a fundamental discipline? Remembering the gentleman's light interrogation, why are they so advanced in _Potions_?!

There was so many more questions she'd like to ask, so many possibilities to tread, but unlike Mrs. Lebedeva, who would discuss a wide array of topics within a short amount time, almost rushing to have her thoughts out in the air, but patiently leading Hermione to the answers she sought, her husband seems exactly the opposite, letting silence settle again in the car, more preoccupied with seamlessly merging with traffic than to elaborate more on his statement. His presence, although subtle, practically commands you to wait on him, to let him tell you his thoughts at his own pace. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek, resisting the urge to squirm, minding her dad, but also trying to block the flow of questions she badly wanted to ask.

"You should not belittle how simple it may seem at the beginning. Like how restless you were when Miya was teaching you meditation," Mr. Lebedev gave her a narrowed side glance, making her blush. Hermione returned his knowing gaze with a small embarrassed smile. "Have patience with all things. But more so, with yourself." At the next red light, he turned his head to gaze directly at her before staring pointedly at the glinting necklace around her throat, making her nervously fiddle with it. He hummed noncommittally before turning his head forward again, and drove them the rest of the way to the airport.

Hermione looked down at the Time Turner, contemplating on Mr. Lebedev's words, before movement next to it redirected her gaze. She laughed quietly, eyes going soft. With a silent swish of her wand, the struggling Snitch attached to the chain broke free, hovering around her head, with Popovo tilting his head animatedly, probably thinking if it's worth the chase or not.

Hermione is still astounded Viktor had given her the enchanted little ball last summer, having a vague idea that, similar to baseballs or basketballs, they're treated as keepsakes in a winning match, especially if it's the player's first big game – or so Viktor implied in one of their conversations. Unlike what it usually does in a match though, it only strays far from Hermione for a good five feet before buzzing back, sometimes burrowing itself within her hair or dropping in one of her pockets. Or recently, lunging to the chain she sticks it to so she wouldn't lose it. But before it would dive, it usually swivels itself a certain way, as if showing itself off.

_~ Viktor Ivanov Krumov ~_

Viktor's name would appear every time it does, right in the middle of it's ornate, golden surface.

If Hermione didn't know any better, she'd say he's been wordlessly reminding her to write back to him...

Her eyes swiftly glanced back up to his letter, innocently sitting on the table, with Popovo now snoozing next to her. She can feel the cool metal of the Snitch, settling its delicate wings around her nape and part of an exposed shoulder – her uniform was still left askew from her struggle of trying to open her copy of _Monster Book of Monsters_ , with no success.

Hermione puffed out an exasperated breath before turning her head away, willing away the heat now rising on her cheeks, an eyebrow twitching in realization.

He's more clever than she thought, she mentally grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: I'm late. I'm super late. But at least I managed to post this before the new year (but to my readers who already welcomed the new year...surprise! :D)
> 
> Thank you so much for being patient. The last two weeks was the only time I finally get to focus on writing again.
> 
> So much has happened since the end of October. After surviving a scary storm, two in fact, I was part of those that helped with relief efforts.
> 
> On a lighter note, I was in charge of our company Christmas decoration contest! (with the condition of using recyclable materials! It was super fun. Tiring, but fun.)
> 
> Happy New Year everyone!
> 
> Onwards!
> 
> \- Reine
> 
> Translation Notes:
> 
> Small amounts add up to something bigger (Kleinvieh macht auch Mist) - a German proverb saying that 'every little bit helps'.
> 
> ja - "yes" in both Norwegian and German, in case you guys got confused by the dialogue
> 
> mistenksom - approximately means "suspicious" in Norwegian
> 
> skummel - approximately means "creepy" in Norwegian
> 
> scandal sheets - other term for the the gossipy tabloids
> 
> like the yolk in the egg (Som plommen i egget) - Norwegian saying that means something is 'perfect' or 'ideal'
> 
> Kakvo (Какво) - Asking 'what' in Bulgarian
> 
> mekitsi (мекици) - plural form of mekitsa (мекица) is a traditional Bulgarian dish made of kneaded dough made with yogurt that is deep fried
> 
> mamo (мамо) - short for maĭka (майка). Its like "mom" from "mother" in Bulgarian
> 
> kŭrpichka (кърпичка) - approximately means "handkerchief" in Bulgarian
> 
> Lyutenitsa (лютеница) - Bulgarian traditional dish made out of purée of tomatoes, red peppers, and carrots, often served on bread and topped with white cheese
> 
> Ljutika (лютика) - Bulgarian traditional spicy sauce that is made from roasted peppers, tomatoes, garlic, onions, and vegetable oil usually crushed with a pestle in a mortar.
> 
> buzz - English slang for excited
> 
> bobbies - English slang for police officers
> 
> The Golden Snitch is charmed with what is termed as 'flesh memory'. It 'remembers' the touch of the first person who handles it with his/her hands. Because of this, a new Snitch is released for every game.


End file.
